Potential
by tigerlily124
Summary: All is not well in Bethesda Maryland and when a mysterious illness begins striking apparently random people in the city down, Hood and Rachel must race against time to same their lives. Will they figure it out in time?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Hello all! I figured that I had been enough of a tease for now and I decided that I would go ahead and post the first chapter in my new story before it is done. This is written in the style of an episode and in this case, there is no shipping. The rating is for possible swearing. I will try to update in a timely manner and answer any questions that might arise. I really hope that you like the story!_

_This is my only disclaimer: the show Eleventh Hour and all characters that you recognize are not mine. The supporting characters and the concept are mine._

_Happy reading folks!_

_tigerlily124_

7:45 am April 22nd 2009

Residence of David Morris

Bethesda, Maryland

The morning air was truly warm for the first time in months. Last night's rain had left an earthy, clean smell in the air and the sun made the resulting dew on the grass sparkle like diamonds. Suburbia had long since ground into action and far away, the low grumble of traffic on the highway spoke busily of people heading to work. The door to a nearby house swung open and a tousle-haired man stumbled out, cursing as he dropped his keys on the front porch. He bent to pick them up and slowly drew himself up again. "Come ON JJ! You're going to be late for school!" Sounds of movement from inside and soon, a rather grouchy looking boy of around 7 had joined his father on the porch. "Sheesh dad," he mumbled, "it's not my fault! You're the one that overslept." Father and son piled into the car and he wearily rubbed his chin, stubble still evident. God knows he needs coffee – for some reason today he could barely keep his eyes open.

7:49 am

Starbucks

7700 Norfolk Ave

Two women sat in the corner around a small table, sipping lattes carefully so as not to stain their business clothes. One woman, a bouncy redhead talked energetically, gesticulating wildly and unknowingly splattering her hand with her coffee in her enthusiasm. "And then," she squeaked, fighting laughter, "she left this blue rubber lizard on his desk for him to find! You should have heard him telling her off last night!" She paused, clearly waiting for a response from the other woman and getting none. She frowned, the expression unnatural on her face, and looked closely at her friend and coworker. The best description for Viv would be pixie-like; she was short, petite, and her brown hair, styled in an angled bob cut, framed a heart-shaped face. But today, Mara thought her friend looked as though she had been through a war; she propped her head on her left hand, leaning forward wearily, she had dark circles under her eyes, and she had forgotten to put on her mascara, a fact made blatantly obvious by the fact that her eyes were drooping closed. "Viv are you all right?" Mara asked, worry beginning to leech into her voice. "Huh?" Vivian Maxwell seemed to come out of some reverie, "oh, yeah, I'm fine." As if to convince herself, she reached out, grabbed her coffee, and had it halfway to her lips before her eyes glazed over completely and she toppled out of her chair, her coffee dropping from nerveless fingers.

7:54 am

Bethesda Emergency Dispatch

"Whoa momma!" Jackie muttered to herself. It had been a slow morning thus far, but, after 10 years as an emergency dispatcher, she had developed a kind of sixth sense that told her when something big was about to go down and, to put it mildly, her spidey senses were tingling. _Always_ happened at the end of the shift. The middle-aged black woman stretched, lacing her fingers and pushing her palms outward, eyes flicking to the picture of her two kids, Jeremy and Kala. She was just thinking about calling her husband when the phone went off, three notes, one, a fifth lower, and finishing high. Jackie wrenched her eyes off of the photo and toward the switchboard, every light of which flashed ominously. _Dear God_, she thought, _what's going on out there!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi guys! Here is the next chapter in the story. I know that the chapters are a bit short at this point, but they will lengthen later on. I hope that you like it! Thanks for reading._

On board a chartered jet, Dr. Jacob Hood, special science advisor to the FBI, sat with a case file open on his lap. His chin had long since dropped to his chest and he made no move when a loose leaf of paper floated lazily to the floor, his breathing deep and even. However, he did awaken a short time later when a sudden pressure on his right shoulder reminded him of his traveling companion - guard dog Rachel Young. His head snapped up and he looked enquiringly in her direction, eyebrows bucking in amusement at what he saw. Ever competent, always professional, agent Rachel Young had fallen asleep on his shoulder, face slack and stray hair from her normally tight bun dangling in front of her mouth and fluttering gently as she breathed. He struggled with himself for a moment but managed to reign in his amusement and, being careful not to move her, turned back to the case notes.

Soon, he was once again deep in thought, his brow furrowed in concentration. _19 people_ he thought, _fine one moment and not breathing the next. What_, he wondered, _could have such an effect? _If this had been one or two isolated cases, then likely, a garden-variety explanation would already have been found, anything ranging from anaphylactic shock to pneumonia, hell, even severe asthma would have been a possible candidate and as a matter of fact, he reflected, a long acting bronchodilator called salmeterol had been linked to a higher incidence of asthma related deaths. The simple truth was, there were so many potential causes that he could sit here all afternoon and still not be able to list them all. What raised this out of the mundane was the fact that there were 19 victims, and all of them, according to the file, had dropped within 30 minutes of each other sometime this morning. The victims had been spread out all throughout Bethesda and, while some victims lived or worked near one another, there was no general rule that would suggest one particular source of exposure. Well, that certainly didn't rule out an environmental cause or the possibility of some sort of contagion. The victims may have shared preferences in a food or beverage. Or they could have met at some central hub of the public transit system where the actual exposure might have taken place.

Suffice it to say, Hood didn't feel like he had very much to go on at this stage in the game. Resolutely, he returned to perusing the notes, searching for some connection between the victims. Shortly after, however, his concentration splintered when Rachel let out a soft snort and a few smacking noises. Hood clapped a hand over his mouth, successfully muffling his initial laugh, but was unable to stop his shoulders from shaking in suppressed mirth and therefore, Rachel awakened suddenly, quickly yanking her head off of his shoulder and shifting back so that she sat more squarely in her own seat. Hood cleared his throat amusedly and turned to look at Rachel. "So Rachel," he said conversationally, "did you know you drool when you sleep?" "I do not!" she huffed, and went about fixing her hair. Out of the corner of one eye, Hood saw her surreptitiously checking his shoulder and chuckled softly to himself, eyes sparkling with humor.

He quickly sobered when the small jet touched down at their destination. Hood gathered up the case notes and neatly returned them to their folder, nodding to himself and once again deep in thought. If the victims were to have any hope, Hood would need to find an answer – and soon – the illness could progress without warning. Additionally, the longer that someone stayed on a ventilator, the greater the chance was that an opportunistic infection could take root and the greater the chance that said individual would never come off of the ventilator again. He straightened in his seat, unconsciously squaring his shoulders, _well, here we go_, he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: _Ok, I felt bad posting just one short chapter and so I decided to go ahead and post the next one. I really hope that you guys are liking this! Enjoy =)!_

At lunch, Rachel was still embarrassed about having slept on Hood and had become more so when she realized he had caught her checking his shoulder for vestiges of drool. Honestly, she didn't know if she wanted to strangle him for not waking her in the first place, not to mention teasing her, laugh at herself, or forget the whole, humiliating incident. She compromised by choking on her drink and when Hood glanced in her direction, she tried a murderous glare, one which, if she was to judge by the raised eyebrow and the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, was rendered entirely unimpressive by her coughing fit.

They were eating in the hospital cafeteria and the food was decidedly _not_ inspiring. The doctor leading the case had been unavailable to meet them when they arrived and Rachel had decided it was high time for some food. Hood had wanted to go see the patients immediately, but had acquiesced readily enough to her suggestion when Rachel pointed out that they might be too busy to eat later on. Hood sat there, an abstracted look on his face, the forgotten fork held loosely in his hand and, as she now noticed, his plate largely untouched. "Hood," she tried, but received no response. "Hood," a little louder this time, but still no response. "Hood!" she bawled and watched as he started and turned wide eyes in her direction. She gestured exasperatedly at his plate, "you need to eat something" she reminded him. He nodded somewhat apologetically and began to pick at the food. Honestly, for the first month of working with him, Rachel had wanted to commit bloody murder, but now, if she was completely truthful with herself, he was beginning to grow on her. Her face softened almost imperceptibly as she watched him drifting back to planet Hood, only occasionally remembering to take a bite of his lunch.

She heard someone walking purposefully toward them and turned, her hand instinctively seeking her gun. Rachel glanced down and read the man's badge. Dr. Peter Wilkinson, the hospital's chief diagnostician, was the lead doctor on the paralysis cases. She relaxed and Hood drew himself out of his reverie, standing to greet the physician, right hand extended. "I'm Jacob Hood and this" he nodded in her direction, "is Special Agent Rachel Young." The doctor clasped hands with him briefly before extending her the same courtesy. "Have you been brought up to speed?" he asked, but before he got his answer, his pager went off. He glanced at the message and began to speak hurriedly, "I'm sorry, but there's a medical emergency involving one of my patients." Though rushed, he perceived the sudden sharpening of Jacob Hood's gaze and shook his head, "No," he told him "this has nothing to do with the cases of paralysis." He raised his voice, "Nurse Alma, please take Dr. Hood and Agent Young to the isolation ward and answer any questions they may have." He ran off at a sprint and missed the sour look said nurse sent in his direction.

Nurse Alma was a dry, pruny old woman, reed thin and with her gray hair done up in a severe bun. The woman's face, scored with the wrinkles of many years past, was frozen in an expression of irritated contempt. She waited for Hood and Rachel to approach and before they could say anything, spun on her heel and began to walk swiftly, rattling off patient stats as she went. Hood and Rachel followed, half jogging to catch up, and it wasn't long before Rachel felt completely lost from the barrage of numbers Nurse Alma continued to spew at them like a Gatling gun. Rachel glanced at Hood and found that he was listening carefully, occasionally lowering his eyes down and to the left while he thought. He raised his head again and tentatively tried to get Nurse Alma's attention, "Uh, Nurse Alma?" She continued talking as if she hadn't heard him and Hood tried again, "Excuse me, Ms. Alma?" Finally, after the third time of being ignored, Hood reached out a hand and, placing it carefully on her shoulder, stopped her and brought her gently around, apologizing as he did so.

Nurse Alma sent him an icy glare and when she finally deigned to look at Rachel, the young agent leveled her best glare right over Hood's shoulder in return. "I was just wondering," Hood said calmly, "if the tox panels of any of the victims showed any results out of the ordinary." "No," she grumped and began to turn around again. "Have you tested for Guillain Barré?" "_Dr._ Hood," she sneered condescendingly, "Guillain Barré causes _ascending_ paralysis. These people just stopped breathing and I find it very unlikely that Guillain Barré should be the culprit." She turned around dismissively and Rachel glanced at Hood, almost missing the flash of irritation that went through his eyes. "It is possible," Hood pointed out evenly, "that we may be looking at a more rapidly progressing form of the disease."

Alma led them toward a closed door, marked with an orange biohazard sign. A table standing by the entrance was loaded with disposable gowns, gloves, masks, and caps as well as a strong chemical disinfectant. "Put these on," Alma shoved Hood toward the table. "When you come out, dispose of everything in the biohazard container there," she pointed harshly "wash your hands with the disinfectant, and _try _to stay out of our way." Hood already had a gown on and was putting on a mask, "Were there any witnesses to any of the collapses?" he asked, voice slightly muffled. "One's in there now," Alma replied, peering into the small observation window, a cold curiosity in her eyes as though observing a somewhat interesting specimen in a zoo. Hood stepped over and looked into the window over the surly nurse's shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head fractionally. "What's the boy's name?" he asked softly. Without answering, Nurse Alma spun on her heel and stalked off. "Bitch," Rachel muttered. "I'm really beginning to hate that woman." "Never mind," Hood sighed, "we need to talk to all of the people who witnessed a collapse." He glanced back at Rachel, checking to see whether or not she was wearing all of her protective gear and then raised his hand to push open the door.

Hood guessed the boy was around 7 years old. He swung his legs slightly from his perch on the chair and sat stiffly, his hands folded carefully in his lap. His head, swallowed in a surgical cap 4 or 5 times to large for him, snapped up when they came in. Hood moved a step closer, nodding briefly to acknowledge the nurse supervising the child before turning back to the boy, "hi," he said gently. The boy made no reply. "I," he placed a hand to his chest, "am Jacob Hood and this is Rachel Young. We work for the FBI. What's your name?" The boy stared at them, his mask stretching a fraction as his jaw dropped in surprise. "Wow! You really work for the FBI?" he asked, a hint of enthusiasm coming to his eyes. Hood and Rachel nodded. "Cool," he said, half to himself. The boy quickly subdued, the lines of his face tightening as he looked at his father. Hood winced in sympathy. "You're here about dad," he said, more of a question than a statement. "Yes we are," Rachel agreed. The boy looked up, staring at Hood, "Is dad gonna die?" Hood broke eye contact for a few seconds before forcing his eyes back up. He looked directly into the child's face, "I don't know," he said gently, "We need to have more information so that we can figure out what's wrong with him. You could really help us if you tell us everything you remember about this morning. I promise you, we will do everything that we can to help your dad." The child stared at him wordlessly for a moment and then nodded soberly, "Ok," he said. "Oh, and my name's JJ."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back. This is another short one and so I will try to post the next chapter in the series a bit sooner than I would have otherwise planned. I hope that you enjoy reading this =). Cheers!

_Chapter 4_

Hood and Rachel stood leaning against the nurse's station, Hood mentally reviewing the information provided by the witnesses and Rachel thumbing through the case file. Presently Hood shook himself, "Who do we still need to talk to?" he asked, glancing toward a window showcasing the declining afternoon sun. Rachel ran her finger down a list of names in her hand, "A Mara Winters. She apparently went home to check on her dog – she should be back la…" here Hood abruptly swung his arm out and down, gesturing for silence and tilting his head toward the hallway to their right. Voices were floating down the hall and coming closer. "Please calm down Mr. Morris!" Dr. Wilkinson was saying. "Before you see your son, I think it would be best to let me tell you what to expect. You will also need to put on a protective gown and a mask and gloves." A gaunt old man soon came striding rapidly down the hall, heading straight for the isolation ward, Dr. Wilkinson half jogging to keep up. "Wait!" he tried again.

The man brushed past Hood and Rachel without even seeing them and Hood used the opportunity to hook one of his own arms through the man's elbow, bringing him about. Dr. Wilkinson looked quickly about and his eyes lit on an empty hospital room. "In here," he said softly. Hood pulled the man into the room and gently pushed the older man down on the bed. The man was skeletally thin, with a craggy, weather-beaten face, checkered shirt showing faint traces of dust. Hands which were worn and callused nervously clenched and unclenched, unconsciously crushing the bill of his faded John Deere cap. Dr. Wilkinson wordlessly nodded his thanks to Hood before pulling a chair in front of the old man and sitting down. Hood and Rachel quietly retreated a few steps, pulling back into the shadows near the door, offering the little privacy they could.

Dr. Wilkinson pulled a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, "Right now, Simon is unconscious and we had to place him on a ventilator to assist with his breathing." The old man's head snapped up in shock and he stared at Dr. Wilkinson in horror, but the doctor kept talking, his hands hanging between his knees and leaning forward slightly as he spoke. "He is one of 19 healthy people in this hospital who, without warning, suddenly collapsed this morning and stopped breathing. We don't know what caused this to happen yet and, as a precaution, anyone going into the same room as an affected patient must wear the proper protective gear to avoid the possibility of spread."

He let the old man think for a few minutes, giving him a chance to ask questions. "Is Simon gonna be ok?" he finally managed. "Right now," the doctor told him, "we really don't know. But go to him, hold his hand and talk to him. It's a simple kind of medicine, but one that has worked wonders in the past. Hopefully we will be able to tell you more in the next few days." Mr. Morris didn't look quite satisfied with the answer but decided to let it go and for the first time, Hood's and Rachel's presence registered in his mind. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, craning his neck to better see them. Dr. Wilkinson glanced over his shoulder briefly and turned back to Mr. Morris, "this is Dr. Jacob Hood and Special Agent Rachel Young from the FBI." Hood stepped forward and offered his hand. "They are here to help us figure out what is causing this illness." The old man stared blankly at Hood for a moment, then nodded and clasped his hand.

"Would you tell us," Hood asked gently, "whether anything out of the ordinary happened to your son in the last couple of weeks." The old man let out an irritated huff of air, "Thought you government types were supposed to know these things." Rachel spoke up for the first time, "We were made aware of the case this morning and we have not had the opportunity to run background checks on all of the individuals involved as of yet." Mr. Morris grunted and returned his gaze to Hood, "Simon just got back from serving in Afghanistan." He said quietly. "He come back different, but at least he did come back. He was trying to get used to being back, trying to get back some sort of normal routine - moved into a nice apartment and even got hisself a dog – and now _this_ happens! On top of everything else he's been through – he doesn't deserve this!"

The old man drew a shuddering breath and fell silent, dropping his gaze. He sat that way for a few moments and then looked again at Hood, "Do you really think you can help my son?" he asked softly. The lines around Hood's eyes tightened with empathy, "I don't know," he admitted, "but if there's anything that I can do to help him, I will." He briefly touched the other man's shoulder in a gesture of support and then turned and left the room, Rachel following close behind.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Rachel didn't want to admit it, but she was getting tired – tired and _frustrated_! She didn't feel that they had made any progress at all today. They were waiting for Dr. Wilkinson to come back after he finished his rounds – Hood had a few questions to ask. The afore mentioned scientist stood next to her, hands buried in his pockets, head tilted down and staring at a fixed point on the floor. Hood was mentally disconnected and presently not much in the way of company and Rachel was becoming more irritable by the moment. She hoped that Dr. Wilkinson came back soon – or she might just snap at someone who didn't deserve it.

She let out a sigh laced with contained agitation and somehow, Hood noticed and surfaced from his thoughts long enough to give her a small smile of encouragement before snagging the dangling thread of his thoughts once again. Rachel chewed her bottom lip and bounced slightly on the balls of her feet in an attempt to let off some steam and spotted Dr. Wilkinson coming around the corner holding a clipboard and clicking his ballpoint pen rapidly, clearly in that strange state of nervous energy only exhibited when one is past the point of exhaustion. Rachel sighed again, this time in relief and Hood looked up and, spotting the good doctor, smiled at him slightly. Rachel glanced at Hood and then back at Dr. Wilkinson, "Thank you for coming to talk to us again. We realize you must be very tired." Dr. Wilkinson's rueful countenance agreed with her, but he wrapped the cloak of professionalism more tightly around himself and, straightening his shoulders, he turned back to Hood.

"Dr. Hood, you mentioned that you had a few more questions?" Hood nodded, "Yes, I was wondering how comprehensive were the tox panels that you ran? Also, would it be possible for me to look over these results?" Dr. Wilkinson's eyebrows knit together in confusion, "Didn't Nurse Alma answer your questions?" he asked. "We weren't exactly given the chance to ask," Rachel commented dryly. Dr. Wilkinson turned slightly away, glaring toward the nurses' station. "God," he muttered, "that_ woman_ is a pain in the ass." He looked at Hood shrugging apologetically, "We sent blood samples from each victim at several different time points to our resident toxicologist. He examined the blood using mass spectrometry and found nothing out of the ordinary. I have those results if you would like to see them."

Hood took the proffered documents and perused them carefully. "Huh," he said softly "your toxicologist was right. I don't see anything out of the ordinary here. Tell me whether or not you agree with me on this. I'm getting more convinced by the hour that we're dealing with some sort of a virus." Dr. Wilkinson looked down thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his teeth. Presently, he looked up at Hood again. "Yes," he said, "I think that's the most likely cause now. We've ruled out any sort of paralytic agent and they have shown no improvement on a course of broad spectrum antibiotics, they have low white blood cell counts, and nothing has grown on the culture plates. A virus makes sense." He paused and rubbed his chin pensively, "But what kind of a virus causes a patient to stop breathing with little or no warning and with no pulmonary abnormalities?"

Hood shook his head, grimacing slightly, "Nothing I've ever seen. Has Mara…" "Winters," Rachel supplied. "Yes, has she come back in yet? She's the only witness we haven't talked to." "Oh yes," Dr. Wilkinson told him, "she was sitting next to Ms. Maxwell's bed when I made my rounds." "Thank you Dr. Wilkinson" Rachel said politely. "Yes, thank you very much" Hood echoed. The doctor nodded acceptingly. "Well," he said, "I am going to catch a couple of hours of sleep. If you need anything, have the nurses' station page me."

With that, Dr. Wilkinson turned and left, clearly exhausted, but also just as clearly eager to get to bed. Hood put his hands back in his pockets, shrugging slightly, "Well," he asked Rachel, "do you want to finish those witness interviews?" His eyebrows raised and he gave a rather lopsided smile when he saw just how much Rachel's face fell with that statement. He turned toward the isolation ward, one hand gently brushing Rachel's arm as he moved. "Come on," he coaxed, chuckling softly. Rachel groaned hoarsely and moved to follow him, her feet dragging every step of the way.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

When Rachel and Hood entered the isolation ward, they found a young woman with curly red hair sitting next to Vivan Maxwell's bed. Mara Winters sat in a chair absently picking at her gloves and bouncing her right knee up and down, full of nervous energy. Hood glanced over at Rachel and found her to be staring blankly out of the window, looking like a character from 'Night of the Living Dead'. Hood decided to make the introductions. Hood moved forward at an easy pace, slouching slightly and allowing his shoulders to relax so as to appear as non-threatening as possible. He cleared his throat softly, "Ms. Winters?" he enquired. The woman in question lifted her head and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes," she told him, "I'm Mara Winters. How can I help you?" "I," Hood gestured somewhat carelessly at himself, "am Jacob Hood and this," he tilted his head to indicate Rachel, "is Agent Rachel Young. We work for the FBI and we are trying to pin down what happened to your friend. We would greatly appreciate it if you could tell us about the time that you spent with Vivian prior to her collapse. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

Mara nodded somewhat wearily and moved closer to Vivian, the harsh fluorescent bedside light giving her skin an unhealthy grayish tone and emphasizing the shadows under her eyes. She carefully adjusted her friend's blankets and turned fully to face Hood. "It was just any other day," she said, catching Hood's eyes with an air of disbelief, "you never know just how fast something can go wrong." She shook her head fractionally, hesitating as she gathered her thoughts to tell her story. "I had no warning you know? I mean, Viv looked pretty tired, she had forgotten to put on all of her makeup and she could barely keep her eyes open, but I figured she had just had a late night working on the projections..." she trailed off, beginning to fidget nervously again. "We were sitting at a table in Starbucks having coffee and I was talking to her, but it's like she wasn't even there." She reached up and tugged on her mask, full of nervous energy, her eyes staring off into space. Mara's hands twisted in her lap and she finally returned her attention to Hood and Rachel, "the next thing I know, her face went completely slack, she dropped her coffee, and she just collapsed."

Hood nodded from where he stood propped against the wall. His face showed the tentative beginnings of understanding - as if he now had an idea which fit the available data but was still unwilling to voice it. Hood shook himself from his reverie, and moved away from the wall. He reached out and gently clasped Mara's shoulder. "Thank you very much Mara. We have what we need for now." The young woman made eye contact, trying to search Hood's face for reassurance that everything would be ok. Hood smiled empathetically through the mask, "Try to get some sleep Mara. I promise you that we will do our best to help Vivian." He squeezed her shoulder once more, nodded to her, and he and left the room, tugging a bleary Rachel after him.

Out in the hall, Hood glanced at his exhausted companion and he raised an eyebrow when he saw that she was almost asleep on her feet. Things were starting to click in his mind and he now had a possible mechanism to explain the paralysis. If he was correct, then he would still need to determine where all of the victims had been exposed and try to work out a cure. A large part of Hood was desperate to immediately conduct the diagnostic tests that he now suspected needed to be performed, but he took pity on Rachel. He gently guided her with one hand over to a wall and left her propped up against it and then he went to the nurse's station. Once there, he scratched out a note detailing the type of tests that he wanted each victim to have done and then he handed it to the unit's charge nurse (fortunately _not _nurse Alma) with the instructions to give the note to Dr. Wilkinson when he awakened.

This done, he strode back over to the wall and collected Rachel. He knew just how tired she was when she raised no objections to his driving back to the hotel but quickly went to sleep. He decided that he wouldn't carry her into the hotel - as tired as she was, she might just shoot him. He shook her shoulder until she roused slightly, groaning in displeasure. "Come on Rachel," he urged her, "we're at the hotel." After a moment, she released her seatbelt, opened the car door and staggered wordlessly to the rooms. Hood watched as she stumbled into the room and dropped onto the bed fully clothed. She was asleep in seconds. He paused to pull a blanket over her and went through the connecting door into his own room, leaving the door open.

If he was to locate the source of exposure, he needed to review the notes from the interviews. Besides speaking with witnesses, Hood and Rachel had also interviewed all of the friends and family members of the victims, looking for every possible detail to provide a causal link. He settled in at the writing desk and opened his notes.

It wasn't until much later that Rachel moved again. She had heard a slight noise through the connecting door and she wearily shrugged off the blanket and went to find its source. She peered carefully through the door and saw Hood at the desk in his room, surrounded by a halo of light, the dim fluorescent light throwing every line in his face in relief. He turned another page in his file and paused in his reading long enough to place both hands over his eyes, rubbing slightly before he allowed them to slide down his nose and into his lap. Releasing a barely perceptible sigh, Hood returned to his reading. Rachel shook her head softly and went back to bed. The dim light from the reading lamp could be seen glimmering softly through the doorway far into the early hours of the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hi guys! It's time for another chapter. Definite science alert from now on. Let me know if I don't make things clear enough. Please let me know what you think. Thank you all for reading! =)

p.s. Please pop over to the Eleventh Hour Resurrection Campaign and offer all the support that you can! We want our show back guys! You can find the campaign at: ?f=3&t=52

Chapter 7

Morning dawned mysteriously, a light rain casting a ghost-like mist into the air and reducing visibility. Oh, how Rachel would have loved to have stayed curled up in bed with a good book. Alas it was not to be and so, groaning, Rachel rolled out of her bed and headed for the hotel's coffee stand. She got herself a gigantic mocha (she had always had a sweet tooth) and she bought Hood a latte. Back in the room, sipping her coffee, she calmly holstered her gun and clipped her badge to her belt. She moved into Hood's room next and found him slumped over the desk, the lamplight still flickering dimly on his pale face. Rachel set the coffee down on the desk and pulled the curtains open, increasing the light in the room and rousing Hood with the steely noise of the curtain rings skirting over the rod. He shuddered, blinking owlishly and, spotting the coffee, nodded to Rachel in thanks before grasping it with a desperation born of his sleepless night. He knew he would drink much more coffee than this today.

He rose sluggishly from the desk chair and stretched the kinks out of his back. Rachel scrunched her nose in disgusted sympathy as Hood's neck and back popped. His stretch finished, Hood bent briefly to gather the case notes together and returned them to his file, keeping out his notepad and pen. In the car, he tossed the notepad on the center console. One phrase had been circled in red ink, its near illegibility a testament to the weariness of the author. It read: 'many victims appear to own animals'. It was a tenuous connection at best, but all such connections _must_ be investigated if they had any hope of finding the source of the infection. At any rate, they needed to return to the hospital to find the answers they sought.

Shortly after arriving at the hospital, Hood and Rachel spotted Dr. Wilkinson who was coming out of the isolation ward. The doctor pulled his disposable gown off arms first, breaking the ties. Next, he carefully removed his gloves, grasping the palm of one glove with the fingers of the other to remove that glove first and finishing by hooking one finger under the cuff of the other and turning it inside out over the first. He finished by pulling off his mask and dumping the whole mess into the biohazard bin and favoring them with a rather weary smile. "We did those nerve conduction studies that you suggested in your note," he told Hood. Hood leaned forward, gaze sharpening with interest, "Yes?" he prompted. "We saw no decrease in nerve conduction. However, we were unable to elicit any muscle contractions."

Hood looked away for a moment, his eyes thoughtful, "have you tried edrophonium?" he asked at last. He barely registered the sarcastic clacking of heels and a scornful huff of disapproval as Nurse Alma stalked by, but Dr. Wilkinson's eyes showed his interest, "Hmm...you're thinking it might be myasthenia gravis aren't you." Another explosion of contempt could be heard faintly from the direction of the disappearing nurse, but neither man noticed. Hood nodded, "It's a possibility. In our witness interviews, one commonality was that they all stated that the victims' eyes were drooping shut. Additionally, Mara told us that Vivian Maxwell's face lost all muscle tone and that she dropped her coffee before she collapsed."

Dr. Wilkinson seemed intrigued. The more he thought about it, the more that he became convinced that the mysterious illness could be a type of myasthenic syndrome. He nodded once, "We haven't conducted an edrophonium test yet. Would you like to observe?" Hood quickly agreed, but pulled Rachel aside for a hurried discussion. "Rachel," he said earnestly, "I need you to talk to the friends and relatives of the victims and ask them anything that you can think of regarding the victim's pets." In a different situation, Hood might laughed at the completely dumbfounded expression that crossed Rachel's face, but now he hurried to explain himself. "Last night as I was going through the detailed interviews, it occurred to me that almost all of the victims have pets and another victim works at an animal hospital." Rachel nodded, "I'll do that, but you _are_ going to explain to me later what that myassthingy is." Hood's eyebrows shot up in amusement and he chuckled softly, but before he could frame an answer, Rachel was already walking purposefully toward the waiting room.

Hood and Dr. Wilkinson decided to test the drug on a middle aged man named Ed Thompson. Both men knew of edrophonium as a drug classically used to test for myasthenia gravis. In certain cases of myasthenia gravis, edrophonium would briefly decrease muscle weakness and/or reverse paralysis and as such could be a useful diagnostic tool. Dr. Wilkinson found himself hoping that this would be one of those cases. If not, even should the illness prove to be a myasthenic syndrome, they would need to sequence a number of different genes to find the source - and that, unless they were very lucky, would take time. He shook his head anxiously - time was a luxury that his patients were fast running out of.

He and Hood headed into the isolation ward, ready for their crucial test, but Hood froze in the doorway, his face blanching. "Oh...oh God," he managed finally, "how many?" Dr. Wilkinson froze as well, having forgotten the scientist didn't know that more patients had come in during the night. He motioned apologetically at Hood, "seventeen more cases were discovered during the night. We've had to start redirecting them to another hospital" He watched unhappily as Hood's whole body tensed, rigid in alarm. Hood stared blankly for a few seconds before slapping his fist into his palm determinedly, "Well, we don't have any time to waste then." They shared a glance, both hoping desperately that the edrophonium test would work.

"The medication is going in now," Dr. Wilkinson told Hood. "If there is no reaction in 30 seconds, I'll give him the rest." Hood nodded, but appeared troubled, frequently glancing back and forth between the patient and something on the other side of the room that Dr. Wilkinson did not take the time to register. Dr. Wilkinson shook his head softly, "No response to muscle stimulation. I'm pushing the rest of the edrophonium." More time passed and there was again no response. "Son of a BITCH," Dr. Wilkinson swore acidly. "No response to..."

"Dr. Wilkinson!" a voice vibrating with alarm froze him in his tracks. He turned to find the scientist shining a pen light into the eyes of Simon Morris. Hood's eyes snapped up to find Dr. Wilkinson's, his fingers ticking off each point as he said it, "pupil dilation accompanied by rising systolic blood pressure, falling diastolic pressure, and a drop in heart rate." Hood's words had the doctor rushing to his side, where he quickly confirmed his findings. "_Shit_!" Simon was tanking fast and Dr. Wilkinson pressed the clearly marked button to signal a code blue. Rapidly the room began to fill with personnel, a crash cart was wheeled over beside the bed, and Hood retreated to the far side of the room. "Janet - get a surgery suite ready now and have them send a team! This guy is exhibiting Cushing's triad." The designated nurse sprinted over to the wall and snatched up the phone, speaking urgently to someone on the other end.

Everyone in the room knew that time was of the essence now. Cushing's triad was indicative of an increased intracranial pressure. With increased pressure in the brain, vital structures, such as those regulating pulse and blood pressure begin to be crushed and deprived of blood. Should the pressure increase too much, Simon's brain would herniate out of the hole at the base of his skull and death would occur instantly. Simon was surrounded by a flurry of activity. One nurse worked to put in a secondary line. Another was drawing drugs out of a vial with a syringe. A doctor worked to unhook Simon from the ventilator, while a nurse waited, ready with an Ambu bag. In minutes, the surgical team arrived and Simon was smoothly transferred to their care, one nurse riding on the gurney and rhythmically squeezing the Ambu bag. They sprinted down the hall and into an elevator that was being held for them by another nurse and then they were gone.

The remaining doctors and nurses filtered quietly out of the room, faces grim. Dr. Wilkinson stood staring at the empty space against the wall for a moment longer before shaking his head and leaving the room. Hood followed him out, eager to remove the stifling mask for a few minutes. He gladly disposed of his protective gear just as Rachel reappeared. She immediately noted the shift in the atmosphere, "What happened?" she asked, touching Hoods arm to get his attention. "It's Simon," he told her, "he is showing signs of increased pressure in the brain. I'm guessing that this is due swelling in the brain caused by a hypoxic brain injury."

Behind him Dr. Wilkinson only just remembered to pull off his gloves before he passed one hand wearily over his face. "Damn," he said softly to himself, "I sure hope that they can save that kid." He glanced over at Hood and Rachel and shook his head sadly. The good doctor wasn't voicing anything beyond a natural human concern, but Rachel thought that she detected an additional note of strain in his voice - a leaden conviction; she shot him a questioning glance as he looked her way. Dr. Wilkinson sighed heavily and allowed his shoulders to drop fractionally, "Mr. Morris is a farmer from Iowa. He was planning on visiting his son once he settled into his new apartment. He was supposed to arrive two days ago, but he canceled at the last minute because one of his most valuable brood mares was foaling." Hood and Rachel glanced at each other, beginning to understand the situation. Dr. Wilkinson nodded sadly, "When Simon collapsed, no one was with him. A neighbor called the landlord to complain about Simon's dog howling and it was the landlord who found him. He called 911 and began CPR immediately, but when the ambulance arrived, Simon was DOA. The paramedics managed to jump start him, but clearly the damage had already been done."

Dr. Wilkinson and Hood knew that the possibility of Simon's death wasn't even the worst thing. The edrophonium test had failed and now, they were flying blind. While each of them suspected that the patients were exhibiting some form of myasthenic syndrome, there were numerous mutations found in several genes that could be responsible. Dr. Wilkinson straightened himself and turned once again to Hood, "I'll have muscle biopsies done on every patient and I'll tell our geneticist to start sequencing known causative genes. In the meantime, we have already started trying to culture the virus in primary cells. We should be able to pinpoint the causative gene more quickly if we can grow the virus well enough to sequence its genome." He started to turn away, but Hood gestured for him to wait, "Have your geneticist start off by checking the sequence of both the acetylcholine receptor and the voltage-gated sodium channel." Dr. Wilkinson nodded affirmatively, "I'll do that." He then turned and walked swiftly down the hall.

Rachel stood watching Hood quietly for a moment. His shoulders stooped slightly and his face was gray with exhaustion. "Hood," she said, simultaneously shaking the scientist's shoulder. He raised his gaze from where it rested on the floor to make eye contact. "Let's go get some coffee," she suggested. Hood opened his mouth to protest and Rachel held up one finger to stop him. "Let's go get some coffee and maybe a bite to eat and I'll tell you about my interviews this morning." Hood shrugged, knowing that he would not win this particular argument and together they trudged off to the cafeteria.

They returned half an hour later, both carrying steaming cups of coffee. Hood was intrigued by one point in particular that seemed to stand out in Rachel's interviews. Many of the victims had recently taken their pets to a veterinary clinic in the area called the Merriter Lane Animal Hospital. Moreover, another of the patients had worked in that same clinic. Hood was all in favor of going over to the animal clinic now and looking for anything unusual, however, he wanted to check back in with Dr. Wilkinson first. Hood and Rachel didn't have far to look. On arriving on the intensive care floor, they were rapidly approached by a grim looking Dr. Wilkinson.

"I've just been informed that Simon Morris died in surgery," he told them, sighing and throwing his hands out helplessly. Hood's head bowed slightly and Rachel grimaced. Dr. Wilkinson sighed softly and slouched, hands in his pockets, "I've recently come back from tissue culture and they tell me that they have managed to culture what appears to be the virus of interest. They are setting up slides for an electron microscope now and they have already sent samples of the viral DNA over to the genetics lab. I am told that our geneticist has begun PCR amplification and she hopes to have at least partial sequencing done by tomorrow." "Thank you Dr. Wilkinson," Hood told him, smiling fractionally. "Those slides will be ready in an hour or so," Dr. Wilkinson said, glancing at the clock, "I'll be sure to find you when they are ready for viewing." Hood nodded in appreciation as the other man walked off down the hall and decided to hold off on investigating the veterinary clinic until after he had seen the slides. "Hood," Rachel said softly "I'm going to go sit down for a few minutes. Do you need anything?" Hood shook his head negatively and Rachel moved off in search of a soft chair. She only hoped that he could stay out of trouble for half an hour or so.

Hood was standing next to the one unoccupied bed in the isolation ward when he heard the quiet _whoosh_ of the door opening and the sound of footsteps approaching. He turned and spotted Mr. Morris staring from the center of the room at the empty bed. He looked desperately at Hood who moved carefully toward the other man. "Dr. Hood," he said, his voice frightened, "where's my boy? Where's Simon? Please..." he trailed off breathlessly. The skin around Hood's eyes pinched slightly as if in pain and he hesitated briefly, "I'm so sorry Mr. Morris, " he began. The older man began shaking his head frantically, breathing raggedly. "I'm so sorry, but your son passed away earlier today." The little that could be seen of Mr. Morris's face crumpled in agony and he unconsciously bent forward, reeling as though from a physical blow. Both men were oblivious to the door opening for a second time and to Rachel's presence as she stood, observing quietly from near the door. "My fault," Mr. Morris said softly, "oh God, my fault."

Hood stepped closer, his hand twitching as if he had started to reach for the other man's shoulder but had stopped the motion partway through. He hesitated for a couple of seconds and came to some sort of decision, "Your son contracted meningitis while in the hospital and this caused swelling in his brain. The doctors operated to try to relieve the pressure, but it was already too late. I'm sorry we didn't catch things earlier."

With barely any warning at all, Mr. Morris hauled off and punched Hood in the face, sending the scientist sprawling to the floor. Then he turned and practically bolted for the door. Rachel made a move as if to grab him but Hood's voice, muffled as it was from behind the hand he held to his nose, stopped her where she was. "Let him go." He pulled his hand away, blood already beginning to seep through his mask, "Just let him go," he breathed, half to himself. Rachel watched Mr. Morris disappear down the hall and then went to help Hood off of the floor. They left the room and Hood removed his mask, dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief. "Hood," she said exasperatedly once she was certain that he wasn't going to fall over again, "_why_ did you lie to him." "Because," Hood said simply, allowing the hand he had been holding to his nose to drop, "things are going to be hard enough on him without the addition of the two worst words in the English language..." He shifted his stance slightly forward, eyes blazing with conviction, "What If."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hello there! I figured that it was time for another update. This chapter is a bit shorter than the last one. Please let me know what you think. I hate to beg, but please review - pretty please? =) Thanks again for reading everyone!

Chapter 8

It was around about twenty minutes after Mr. Morris had gone that Nurse Alma came to fetch Hood and Rachel. Her nose turned up snootily, she practically skidded to a halt in front of Hood and gestured irritably toward him, "Come with me," she ordered, providing no explanation as to why. Hood guessed that the samples of the virus were ready for viewing on the electron microscope and started after the woman.

Hood was a tall man, but found that he almost had to jog to keep up - and Rachel was growling mutinously somewhere behind him in the hall. One corner of his mouth quirked in sardonic amusement at the sounds currently emanating from the redoubtable FBI agent. Hood shifted his attention forward again. Hmm...judging by the occasional _huff _of air coming from the reedy nurse, she was not overly fond of her current assignment. Nurse Alma threw a disgusted look back over her shoulder and walked even faster. Hood fought, and for the most part succeeded in keeping his growing irritation from showing on his face; he was, however, unable to hide the muscle twitching at the corner of one eye. Hood knew from experience that Rachel would be less successful - he could practically _hear _her eyes rolling. Rachel was maintaining a muttered monologue somewhere behind him. Occasionally, snatches of her diatribe would break through the background noise, "Can't...understand why...they keep that _cow_ on staff" or "Where's she...taking us? Timbuktu?" Hood grinned briefly.

It occurred to him that the hallways were surprisingly empty and then he spotted someone peering cautiously out of the doorway of an empty room. She flashed him a sympathetic look and slipped quietly back into the shadows behind the door. _Aha! _Hood thought, finding himself rather amused. The clacking of the irascible nurse's high heels reverberated through the air of the hallway like a shockwave and Hood wondered briefly whether someone had given her those shoes for precisely that reason. As they walked along, a new resident was barely saved from disaster when a hand reached through a doorway, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and yanked him out of harm's way. Nurse Alma never even noticed.

Alma stopped abruptly in front of the door of a partially darkened room, pivoted sharply on her heel and jerked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the room as their destination. Then with a final dissatisfied explosion of air, she stomped back off the way they had come, all but shouldering them both aside. Hood's jaw clenched once and then he shook his head rapidly to clear it and went to poke his head in the doorway. Rachel stood in place, red and seething, wisps of her blond hair had escaped her bun and were floating haphazardly in all directions, adding greatly to her current impression of a lion.

Hood knocked on the door frame and stepped into the room, slowing to allow his eyes time to adjust to the dim light. He started slightly and looked rapidly around the room as a deep voice asked softly, "She gone yet?" Slightly nonplussed, Hood cocked his head in the direction of the voice and answered slowly, "Yes, she's gone". There was a slight scuffling noise and then one of the biggest, most well built black men that Hood had ever seen proceeded to unfold from behind the desk. Hood's eyes widened in disbelief, face slack in amazement "The name's Taylor," the man told him, smiling easily, "but most people 'round here call me Tay." The man was grinning like a Cheshire cat and it was then that Hood realized he was staring, he snapped out of it, head jolting slightly, "Jacob Hood," he supplied, extending his hand. Tay stepped forward to clasp his hand and Hood, feeling bones shifting in his hand, kept the exchange short. "This is Agent Rachel Young." Tay nodded to her and offered her a wink, "Pleased to meet you both." Hood couldn't help comparing the cramped space behind the desk to the size of the man in front of him, his face a study in incredulity. Tay took one look at him and began to laugh, "It pays to be flexible," he managed finally, "and it's always a good idea to get out of sight when we're having a 'code shrew' if you know what I mean." "We do indeed," Rachel stated ironically. Still grinning, Tay turned back to Hood, "Well, Dr. Hood, I was told that you might be stopping in to look at some slides. Just follow me over here."

He led Hood into a second room and directed him to sit at one of the chairs by a computer monitor with two screens. Mounted in the bench top, a long, white tubular microscope pointed at the ceiling, wires running to banks of circuitry sitting separately along the wall. A powerful vacuum was connected to the scope by a line running along the ceiling. Tay left the room briefly and returned carefully carrying a small copper grid which he loaded into the microscope. He walked around the room, turning on all of the necessary equipment, and finishing with the computer. Tay entered a few commands into the imaging program on the computer and Rachel thought that she could hear the vacuum. Shortly, Hood and Rachel were looking at an image of purified virus particles that looked something like balls of spikes. Hood leaned intently toward the screen, taking the time to study every one of the features he could make out. After a moment or two he leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the desk and stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Well," he said softly, "it definitely looks like a lentivirus to me." He caught Rachel's eye, "This raises the possibility of gene therapy gone awry." Hood just hoped that he was wrong. He knew from prior experience exactly how hard it was to reverse.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hi guys! The next chapter's up. Let me know what you think and don't forget to visit the eleventh hour resurrection campaign. Take care guys!

Almost half an hour later and Hood had finished discussing the virus with Tay. While both of them suspected that the virus was not airborne, they also felt that it would be safer to maintain a full level quarantine for now until the geneticist could provide them with the full sequence. He stood, stretched wearily and then clasped Tay's hand warmly, thanking him as he did so. He and Rachel headed for the door, but Tay's voice stopped them, "Listen, if you ever come back to these parts we should catch up over a few drinks." Hood turned and smiled genuinely, "I'd like that" he said softly. Rachel also offered him a smile over one shoulder, "Thanks for the stress relief - we needed that." The deep rumble of a laugh reached their ears as they left, "I'll just bet you did," the voice stated in a matter of fact tone.

Hood wanted to swing by the genetics lab to see how the sequencing of the viral genome was progressing. He and Rachel followed the signs to a lab filled with men and women bustling about, all wearing white lab coats. At one of the benches directly across from the door, a man held a small plastic tube at eye level, carefully pipetting the sample it contained to mix it, "I'll be right with you," he said and, capping the tube, he set it and the pipette aside. He was man of medium height with spiky reddish blond hair and a wiry frame. Dark horn rimmed glasses balanced low on his nose and framed intelligent gray eyes. His face had a hawkish aspect to it, an appearance accentuated by the abrupt movements of his head as he sized up his visitors. He peeled his gloves off and shot them into the trashcan, failing to notice the somewhat offensive position one of them landed in. "Dr. Hood?" the man questioned, cocking his head. Hood nodded and motioned to Rachel, "This is Agent Young." The man clasped hands briefly with both of them, "I'm Dr. Loch. Dr. Wilkinson mentioned that you might stop by." He looked seriously at both of them, "I apologize for being abrupt, but I'm going to have to get back to work. In addition to our sequencing the virus, we have a backlog of requests from our genetic counselors. I expect that we will have a sequence map for you early tomorrow morning." Hood nodded his understanding, "I could help." Hood suggested. Dr. Loch briefly touched Hood's arm in thanks, "I'm sure that you're more than capable, but that won't be necessary." He smiled faintly at them both and rushed back over to his bench.

Hood and Rachel had reached the familiar hallway outside the isolation ward, "Well, at least they'll have the sequence for us tomorrow. Then we'll know what we're dealing..." Hood trailed off abruptly. "Hood?" Rachel questioned. He extended his hand, palm outward in a request for silence, listening closely. Without explanation, Hood darted over to the table outside the door to the ward and rapidly donned a disposable gown and gloves, charging into the room holding a mask loosely over his face, the ties of the gown fluttering out behind him.

Inside the room, Nurse Alma towered over JJ who had fallen to the ground. In his arms was a plush teddy bear, oozing cotton stuffing from a stump where the leg had been. Nurse Alma held the remains of the bear's leg in one hand, her lips pressed into a thin line and her pencil thin eyebrows drawn low. "Why _I _have to babysit..." she muttered, and then louder, "Get up and give that disgusting bear to me. Such a thing has _no _place in the hospital." JJ tightened his hold on the bear and cried bitterly. These things Hood noted in the seconds it took him to cross the room. He snatched the bear's missing leg away from her, catching her completely by surprise, and bent down to lift JJ to his feet. "JJ? Are you all right?" he asked kindly. JJ nodded, trying to hide the fact that he'd been crying. "Listen," Hood told him, crouching down to his level and handing him the bear's leg, "I'll bet that if you're really, really nice that one of those nurses" he indicated the nurses' station, "will help fix up your bear." JJ sniffed behind his mask, "You really think so?" he asked. "Why don't you go and ask them?" Hood suggested and pulled himself so that he was fully upright again. JJ headed for the door, cradling the teddy carefully.

Out of the corner of one eye he could see that Alma had overcome her shock and was rapidly progressing from her normal level of irritation to a towering fury. She sucked in a furious breath, hands balled into fists and opened her mouth to say something. Hood silenced her with a violent chopping motion. He waited until he was sure that JJ was out of earshot before rounding on her, speaking slowly, his voice all the more dangerous for its softness. "If you _ever _attempt to harm this child or any other ever again" he said, stabbing the air with an index finger to punctuate his words "- if you so much as leave one _hair_ out of place then you will have me to deal with. You do anything like this again and my newest hobby will be to make your life miserable. And believe me," he added, a dangerous light in his eyes, "I am more than capable." "Yeah," added Rachel from behind him, glaring fiercely, "and if that doesn't work, I'll smack your sorry ass into next week." Nurse Alma shook with rage, a faint pink tingeing her sallow cheeks as she screeched at them, not bothering to keep her voice down. "How..._dare_ you! I'll have you thrown out of the hospital...I'll see to it that you're both _fired!_" Rachel smiled a wolfish smile, "I'd like to see you try. Hood's got more brains in his little finger than you have in that miserable little head of yours." "And Rachel's worth more than an army of you would be," Hood added. With that, Nurse Alma reached critical mass. She shrieked numerous expletives at the pair of them, howling like a banshee.

So intent was she on her tirade that she failed to hear the faint whoosh of the door opening and was thus completely surprised when Dr. Wilkinson began to yell over her, "What the _hell_ is going on in here!" Nurse Alma pointed furiously at Hood, who glared fiercely, hands balling into fists at his sides. Dr. Wilkinson inflated like a bullfrog, "You know what?" he told her sweetly, "I don't care!" he bellowed, his voice cracking slightly as he yelled. "I've had it up to here with you terrorizing the patients and the staff with your constipated personality. You horse-faced, self-important, tight-assed old _shrew!_ You're the sorriest excuse for a nurse I have ever had the misfortune to meet." He drew himself up to his full height, "Well guess what Nurse Ratchet, your ass is fired! Get the _hell_ out of here before _I_ call security!"

Alma stood frozen for a moment, shaking with ire before she spun on her heel, nose in the air. But her dramatic exit from the room was completely spoiled when she noticed that half of the hospital staff was plastered to the viewing window, watching with amazement and no little enjoyment. She huffed and stormed from the room in a state of high dudgeon. In the hall, one of the younger nurses turned to whisper in her friend's ear, "Oh," she sighed dreamily, "that is _so_ going on YouTube."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hello everyone! Here is the next chapter. In the next couple of chapters, the answers will emerge. I'm guessing that in chapter 12, we will finally have the full picture. I hope to write chapter 12 this weekend, but there are no guarantees there due to the barbecue that I am co-hosting =). Let me know what you think about this chapter. Happy summer everyone!

Hood, Rachel and Dr. Wilkinson left the isolation ward and began peeling off their protective equipment. Hood looked at Dr. Wilkinson with admiration and Rachel wore a cat-who-ate-the-canary smirk. The doctor took his glasses off with a shaking hand and began to clean them on his lab coat. "Wow," he said presently, rubbing one hand over his face and replacing his glasses, "you have _no idea_ how long I've wanted to do that." Hood looked at him, eyes twinkling, "Oh, I think I might have an idea."

Dr. Wilkinson finished regaining his composure and turned once again to address the duo, "Well," he said, "I'm afraid that I need to finish making my rounds. No rest for the wicked you know." As Dr. Wilkinson started off down the corridor, the staff broke into exuberant applause. Dr. Wilkinson stood stock still for a moment, genuinely stunned. Then, regaining his wits, he turned and, tucking one foot behind the other and lifting the edges of his lab coat, he curtsied humorously. The applause continued on as Dr. Wilkinson strode off down the hall. "Well," said Rachel, "that made my day." Hood grinned at her, "Rachel," he said, gradually sobering, "we should head over to the veterinary clinic if we want to make it before they close." Rachel nodded briskly and they headed for the rental car.

Twenty or so minutes later saw their arrival at the veterinary clinic. Merriter Lane Animal Hospital was a cluster of low red brick buildings radiating off of a central complex. Behind the clinic itself lay a few fenced in grassy areas that appeared to serve as a play area for the animals being boarded at the hospital. Hood and Rachel stepped into the central building, Rachel pulling off her sunglasses and squinting slightly in the dimmer light.

The reception area had a high vaulted ceiling and was painted a soothing beige color. Tall vases, positioned at various places against the wall, contained giant shoots of ornamental bamboo. A large metal sculpture detailing leaves and flowers hung centered over the reception desk. A young blonde with brown just starting to peek out at the roots was sitting at the desk, smacking gum and listening to music while tapping furiously on her cell phone. Hood walked over to her, placing one hand up on the desk and clearing his throat slightly when she didn't appear to notice him. There was no response. Hood tried again, "Ah, excuse me..." Once again, the receptionist made no move to answer him. Behind Hood, Rachel rolled her eyes and, placing two fingers into her mouth, whistled quite loudly. Hood stiffened slightly in shock and the receptionist jumped about three feet in the air. Through the cacophony of barking from a chorus of unseen dogs, Hood turned to Rachel with wide eyes, gaping at her, "Where," he asked, "did you learn to whistle like that?" Rachel shrugged nonchalantly, "Three brothers," she said simply. Hood's lips twitched slightly and he turned back to face the receptionist. She all but jumped to her feet and then she linked her hands, extending them across the desk so that her elbows (and breasts) rested on the desk top. "Hi, I'm Dawn! Are you here to pick up your pet? Oh, I know!" she practically shrieked, "You and your wife are here to adopt a pet!"

Dawn failed to notice the slight darkening of Rachel's countenance or Hood raising a finger to interject. Neither of them, however, could get a word in edgewise. "You two are _such_ a cute couple!" she squealed, "We have so many dogs and cats here that are looking for a home! We ran a commercial on News Channel 8 two weeks ago!" She leaned even further forward, showing still more cleavage, "We don't have any more space and we will have to put many of the animals down unless we can find them good homes. I already adopted 6 kittens and a puppy - but don't tell my landlord that." She stared at Hood, her eyes vacuously entreating, "Oh please, will you and your wife adopt a few dogs and cats?"

Dawn finally paused for breath and for a moment, all that Hood and Rachel could do was gape at her, shocked well beyond the capacity for speech. Hood cleared his throat somewhat nervously, "Uh," he said finally, looking rather like a deer in the headlights, "I am Jacob Hood and this is my colleague," he placed a delicate emphasis on the word, "Special Agent Rachel Young." He paused, giving his words a moment to sink in, but Dawn's vapid stare remained unchanged and so he hurried on, "There are several people who have gotten sick and all of them seem to have a pet that, at some point in time, was in this clinic," he swept an arm out to indicate the rest of the compound. "Another person worked for Merriter Lane Animal Hospital."

Rachel could see that little of Hood's explanation was getting through and so, with an exasperated sigh, she flashed her badge at the receptionist and stepped forward, "FBI Ma'am, we think that your clinic may have a problem." Dawn's eyes widened in excitement, "Ooh! You're from the FBI?" Her hand started to twitch towards her cell phone. Rachel rolled her eyes, "Yes," she said, "and we think that there is something in this clinic that is making people sick." Dawn grinned and shook her head, "Well," she giggled, "I'm sure there's no claws for alarm." She broke down in laughter and looked at both of them, waiting for a response, "Claws - get it?" Hood and Rachel stared at her. "Listen," said Hood finally, "is there someone else that we can talk to?" Dawn shrugged, "Sure." She raised her voice to a yell that caused the dogs to bark and howl, "Hey Shane," she bellowed, "the FBI's here to talk to you!" In a moment, a middle aged man with a bald head and thick black glasses poked his head through a door with a combination lock. He waved at Hood and Rachel to follow him and stood back to allow them through the door. Shane closed the door and turned back to address Hood and Rachel but stopped at the look on their faces. "Oh...my...God," Rachel managed finally. Shane snickered softly, "That's Dawn for you. Someone once told me that talking to her was like staring into a black hole. You know? All the intelligence in the universe gets sucked in and crushed." Hood and Rachel made eye contact and nodded in agreement. Hood shook himself, placing his thoughts back into order and then made eye contact with Shane, "I am Jacob Hood and this is Special Agent Rachel Young." They shook hands briefly. "As you may or may not be aware, we have an epidemic in Bethesda," Hood told him seriously, "We found that the factor linking each of the victims is contact with an animal that either came from or was treated at this clinic." Shane frowned unhappily, "Well," he said, "I guess that you need to look over the animals then." Hood nodded decisively, "Yes, and I need samples of all of your vaccines. Also," he added thoughtfully, "I would appreciate it if we could have the records and contact information for every pet owner who either adopted or had animals in this clinic dating back at least two months." Rachel nodded, "I'll get copies of the records," she offered. Hood nodded at her in thanks and gestured at Shane, "Shall we?"

Shane led Hood through another door and into a room with cold fluorescent lighting and metal cages lining the wall. A multitude of cats blinked at them, slit like pupils opening in fright. Hood surveyed the room intently, crouching to peer into each cage. He frowned slightly and rose from his position on the floor glancing at Shane expectantly. The vet nodded his understanding and led Hood into an even larger room where dogs of all sizes bayed excitedly, tails wagging furiously. Again, Hood carefully inspected each cage. He rose to his feet and stood for a moment, head bowed in thought. After a time he shook his head and sighed, "Shane," he said softly, "can you show me the compound where you board the pets?" "Sure," Shane told him and turned to lead him out of the compound. "This area," his arm swept to indicate a fenced in area, "is where we bring the dogs out to play." He continued on, opening a door into the building on the left. The entirety of the small building was lined in cages, cats in one room, dogs in the next.

Once more Hood took the opportunity to inspect each and every cage. When finished, he turned to Shane frowning slightly, "Did you know," he asked quietly, "that almost every animal here has fleas?" Shane rubbed a hand over his face, "_Shit!_" he swore vehemently. He put on gloves and opened a cage containing a large orange tabby. Bringing out a metal comb with fine prongs, he carefully combed through the tabby's fur and cleaned the comb into a small bag which he handed to Hood. "Well," he sighed, shrugging, "you're right." Hood grimaced slightly. "If you could collect fur from the other cats and dogs throughout the compound then I will draw up samples of your vaccines. Make sure that you label each sample so that we know which animal it came from." Shane nodded and moved off to complete his assignment.

Half an hour later Rachel found Hood placing the last sample of vaccine into a carefully labeled tube. He capped it off and put it into the rack with the rest. He turned to face her. "I have copies of all records for animals passing through the clinic dating back three months," she told him. Hood touched her shoulder in appreciation, "Thank you Rachel." He ran a hand through his hair nervously, glancing off to one side, "Almost all of the animals in the clinic have fleas," he told her. "I think that the fleas could be the vector for our virus." Hood sighed heavily before turning his eyes to meet hers, "But Rachel," he said, his voice vibrating slightly with strain, "the timeline's all wrong. If fleas are the source of the virus then there should not have been so many people falling ill simultaneously." He stopped to take a breath, staring into space, "Even if you consider the number of recent pet adoptions prompted by the adoption drive..." he muttered.

Rachel stood attentively, waiting for Hood to make himself clear. Hood began to explain, his hands moving as he spoke, "Fleas prefer animals to people. They _will _bite people - think of the Bubonic Plague - the Black Death. That was spread by fleas. Wiped out around a third of the European population in two years. But the thing is, I _still_ wouldn't expect to see so many cases happening simultaneously. Unless..." Hood's face was white, his hand tapping his leg rapidly, "unless, Rachel, there are a _lot_ more potential cases out there." He pivoted sharply and, scooping up the samples swept from the room, Rachel following behind.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hello everyone! Here is the next installment of my story. Life has been crazily busy lately, but I will try to keep up the weekly posting schedule. I hope that you all enjoy this chapter! =)

Chapter 11

Rachel cupped one hand over the receiver of her cell phone and turned to Hood, "Felix will be on the ground in a couple of hours." Hood nodded in satisfaction. Rachel continued, "I faxed him a copy of the records from Merriter Lane and he will contact everyone who has had contact with an animal treated by the clinic in the last three months and start rounding up the affected animals." The corner of Hood's mouth twitched in stifled amusement, "Tell him that he might want to wear gloves and boots if he actually goes to any of the homes - oh, and he might want to have a few flea bombs on hand in case there are any confirmed flea infestations."

He restrained himself from suggesting that he could buy Felix an appropriate collar for the occasion, but he noted the pointed (and rather sly) look that Rachel gave him before turning back to the phone. Hood began to withdraw into his own thoughts again as the broken cadence of phone conversation resumed but soon registered the exasperated tone of Rachel's voice and lifted his head to glance at her. "Oh for heaven's sake Felix!" she said, throwing her free hand out in frustration. "They're only fleas and Hood says that they don't like people as much as animals." A brief pause, "Well don't get on the floor then. Listen Felix," she said wickedly, "if you're that worried, you could always wear a flea collar." Hood coughed to hide a laugh, watching as Rachel wagged her eyebrows conspirationally in his direction. "Right then," Rachel cut Felix off with an air of finality, "let us know if you need any more information. Be sure to coordinate with the health department. Thanks Felix." She snapped the phone closed and turned back to Hood.

Dusk was falling outside like a soft purple blanket, easing the sharp lines of the trees into the background which blurred like a watercolor painting. Hood and Rachel were heading off to the tissue culture facility to drop off the fleas for testing. Hood reached out a hand to push open the door, leant slightly forward and peered around the door. He cleared his throat slightly, drawing the attention of the scientist currently sitting at a tissue culture hood. She half turned and nodded in his direction to acknowledge Hood's presence and then returned to her work, carefully drawing up a reddish-pink solution in a large pipette and applying it to the culture dish she was working with. Hood stepped into the room fully, motioning for Rachel to follow him, and watched as the woman repeated the process with a stack of the bottle-like dishes, carefully restacking them. Hood pressed himself against the wall as the woman carried the stack of dishes to the incubator he had been standing in front of.

The scientist, in her mid thirties Rachel judged, had short sandy blonde hair, slightly frizzy at the moment, smooth features, and clear amber eyes. The woman, who Rachel saw was named Melissa, returned to the culture hood and sprayed everything down with ethanol. After wiping everything down, she pulled the hood most of the way closed and finally turned to them. Hood didn't waste time, and stepping forward slightly, he offered his hand. Melissa shrugged somewhat apologetically, showing that she still wore gloves. Hood smiled slightly, "I am Jacob Hood and this is Special Agent Rachel Young." Melissa nodded, "Melissa Campton. I'm pleased to meet you both."

She glanced appraisingly at the bags Hood was carrying, "You are the people studying that outbreak of paralysis right?" Hood nodded, "Yes, we think that we might have traced the vector for this virus." He lifted the bags in his hands, "These are fleas that were collected from animals at Merriter Lane Animal Hospital. Many affected individuals had pets that had recently been at Merriter Lane and quite a few of the animals there had fleas." Melissa nodded in understanding, "You need me to isolate any viral particles that may be present in the fleas." Hood nodded again, smiling at Melissa. She paused, eyes abstracted as she ran a quick mental calculation. She looked up again and nodded to herself before smiling in Hood's direction, "I think that I can have answers for you by late tomorrow morning."

She looked Hood over again, almost beaming. Rachel was beginning to feel invisible. She had the distinct impression that Miss Melissa had completely forgotten her presence. Yes, from the way she was eyeing Hood, Rachel had almost certainly been forgotten. To put her theory to the test, Rachel cut in, "Yes," she said rather loudly, "thank you very much." The other woman's head snapped around sharply and she colored slightly, "Well, I had better get started." Melissa reached to take the bags from Hood, averting her eyes and coloring even more. She nodded slightly and made to leave. Hood raised a hand to stop her, "Be careful not to allow those fleas to bite you or to escape," he warned. He looked thoughtful for a moment, "Hmm...maybe you should leave them in the refrigerator for a while to make them more sluggish." Melissa nodded, "I'll do that. Thanks for the advice." She all but fled the room, leaving a rather bemused looking Hood.

Rachel grinned in Hood's direction, "Oh Hood," she said in a sing-song voice, her grin now turning slightly wicked, "I think she likes you." The brilliant scientist turned in her direction, eyes wide and innocent, "Really?" Rachel nodded, enjoying his slight discomfort. He shook himself slightly and headed for the door. He looked over his shoulder, "We need to find Tay. He and I should take a look at those vaccines I picked up from the clinic - just in case I'm wrong about the fleas." Both of them moved quickly down the hall.

All Rachel could tell was that it was getting late. The microscope room, with only the eerie glow from the monitors and a small desk lamp, had an air of timelessness about it. Hood and Tay huddled around the dual monitor screens, gazing intently and occasionally motioning to something Rachel could not see, murmuring quietly to each other. Rachel sat forgotten at a bench next to a bank of circuitry with dark indicator lights informing her that they were not in use at the moment. She slouched forward with her face propped up on one fist, rumpling her cheek, staring at a fixed point in space.

Hood glanced over one shoulder in her direction and stood slowly, stretching out the kinks. He came over to her as Tay also stood and stretched, quietly leaving the room. Hood reached out gingerly to touch her shoulder, "How are you doing?" he asked softly. Rachel straightened out her posture and looked at Hood steadily, "I'm fine," she told him. Hood raised his eyebrows slightly, not convinced, but allowing that to pass. The door to the adjoining room opened, and Tay returned, carefully carrying three cups of coffee, one tucked under an arm. He placed two of the cups down in front of Hood and Rachel before carefully retrieving his. Hood touched the other man's arm, "Thank you _very_ much," he said, emphasizing the '_very_' with a nod. Rachel groaned, "I think I love you," she said. Tay beamed and raised his coffee in a salute, "Well, cheers." The others followed suit, eyes closing as they relished the heat and imagined the caffeine doing its work. Hood sighed in relief, "We're almost done now Rachel." He gazed in her direction, eyes kind though slightly unfocused, "We only have three more samples to evaluate." He checked his watch, blinked in surprise and checked again, "We should be done in around half an hour." He smiled at her and moved with Tay back to the monitors.

True to his words, almost half an hour later and Hood was gently shaking Rachel awake at her desk. He pulled Rachel to her feet gently and held on long enough to be sure that she was steady on her feet. "Listen Tay," he said seriously, "thank you for everything. I have really enjoyed working with you." Tay smiled warmly, "The feeling's mutual. Take care now." Hood moved them both to the door. "Bye Tay," Rachel said, trying to smile and yawn at the same time. Tay's rumbling chuckle followed them out of the room, "Bye Agent Young. Believe me, the pleasure was _all_ mine."

Back outside the isolation ward, Hood went to speak with the charge nurse. After a moment, she nodded in understanding and pointed off down the hall to their right. Hood nodded his thanks and moved back over to Rachel. "Rachel, down that hall," he pointed, "the third door on the left, there is a room where doctors and nurses working extra shifts can catch a little sleep. I am going to wait for the geneticist's report, but why don't you get a little sleep. Tomorrow will be another busy day." Too tired to argue, Rachel moved off down the hall and, entering the room, she closed the door and fell onto the bed, not even bothering to remove her shoes.

Further down the hall, Hood paced restlessly, right hand tapping out a nervous tattoo on his leg as he thought. His steps were fevered and mechanical, but the fractional stoop of his shoulders, coupled with the slight tremor in his hands, revealed clearly that Hood was exhausted. The vaccines, as he had suspected they would, had proven clean. Hood was becoming more and more convinced that the fleas _were_ carrying the virus - but this did not mean that the veterinary clinic was the original source of the virus. As a matter of fact, Hood was relatively certain that the clinic was _not_ ground zero.

During his inspection of the animals, Hood had made sure to note the types of scientific equipment present at the facility - and he had seen no evidence of the type of equipment necessary to manufacture and grow the virus. As a matter of fact, if he had to hazard a guess, he would say that Merriter Lane sent all of their samples to an external laboratory for analysis. He paused in his pacing and bent to retrieve the file he had been carrying from its spot on the floor. He shuffled through the papers and, finding what he wanted, ran a finger along it, reading through it quickly. He was right, Merriter Lane sent out any and all of their samples to an offsite lab - in Baltimore. Hood very much doubted that either Merriter Lane or the lab in Baltimore were the original source.

That left two problems that _must _be solved. Hood needed to track down the original source of the illness and halt the spread of the epidemic and he must try to develop a cure. Hood sighed, pulling one hand wearily down his face as he thought. He suddenly heard footsteps rapidly approaching and looked down the hall to see the hawkish geneticist approaching. The man stopped sharply in front of him, "Hello Dr. Hood," he said, cocking his head sideways as he evaluated the other's weariness. Hood nodded and managed a small smile, "Hello Dr. Loch. Very nice to see you again." Forgoing further pleasantries, Dr. Loch handed him a packet of papers and stood waiting. Hood thumbed through the documents briefly before returning his attention to the other man, "The sequences," he said simply, "that was very fast. Thank you _very_ much." Dr. Loch nodded in appreciation.

Hood continued carefully perusing the documents, running a finger along it and occasionally returning to go over something again. After a few moments, he raised his eyes again. Dr. Loch stepped forward and pivoted so that he stood at Hood's shoulder. He gestured at a specific point on the sequence map, "As you doubtless saw, it would appear that the gene present in the virus, the cause of all the trouble, is a defective SCN4A gene." So he had been right. The paralysis of the patients was due to a myasthenic syndrome originating from a defective voltage-gated sodium channel. Hood nodded slowly and leafed through the pages again, motioning to a mutation that was marked in red, "V1442E," he muttered half to himself.

He turned to look fully at Dr. Loch, "I think that I saw a paper on this specific mutation a few years ago." Dr. Loch dipped his head in agreement, "Yes you did," he told him, offering him a second paper, "I did some digging," he explained. Hood glanced at the title and smiled at Dr. Loch. "Thank you," he said again. "You have been fantastic to work with." Dr. Loch smiled back and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes, "Well, I think that I'm going to go home and catch some sleep." Hood smiled sympathetically, "Let me know if I can ever repay the favor." Dr. Loch thanked him and moved down the hallway, heading for his car.

Hood had finished reading the paper for the second time through and was too tired to notice the fact that he was sliding slowly down the wall. He finally hit the floor with a soft thump, his head drooping over his papers, his arms propped on top of his raised knees. His last conscious thought as he dropped off was _'Well, this is going to be interesting to explain to Rachel come tomorrow'_.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Hello all! It's again time for another chapter of the story! I will try to keep to the weekly posting schedule again. Oh, fair warning here: the national weather service predicts chances for thunderstorms with heavy science and golf ball sized duh. PM me with any questions and thanks as always for reading =) !

With the instincts born of the brutal course of training at Quantico, Rachel rolled out of bed at 6:39 the next morning. Hmm…she usually didn't oversleep by that large of a margin – she must be getting tired. In the complete darkness of the doctors' break room, it would have been impossible to tell the time of day – save for the luminescent desk clock against the far wall. Rachel stretched wearily and holstered her gun. Once out in the hall, she moved directly to the windows. A crisp, bright morning was beginning to dawn, the sun creeping down the church steeple and tickling the tops of the trees. Though little sound penetrated into the hospital, Rachel imagined that she could hear birds chirping cheerily. _Cheeky little shits_, she thought sulkily.

Further down the hall, Rachel could see what appeared to be a rumpled bag of clothes, tossed carelessly against the wall, but she was willing to wager that she knew exactly what – or rather _who_ – that bundle was. She sighed, maybe once, just _once_, she would be wrong. Just this _once_ maybe it wasn't Hood. _Fat chance_, she thought, running a hand through her hair in burgeoning frustration. Ah yes, those clothes definitely had a familiar, if disheveled, look. She continued down the hall, not bothering to be quiet.

Jacob Hood lay propped against the wall, legs extended in front of him. His skin was pale and his head lolled sideways from his neck, a position that Rachel was willing to bet that he would feel for the next few days. Yes, Hood was down and out. He failed to rouse as Rachel stalked up to him, and his breathing, deep and even, told her that it would be some time before he woke.

On another day, Rachel might have gone off to get them both a coffee – a nice steaming cup of caffeinated joy to help ease in the morning. Today, however, found Rachel feeling decidedly less charitable. Moving cautiously, she crouched down and leaned forward so that her lips were close to the scientist's ear and then she said, her voice rather too loud, "Wake up Hood!" Hood's head snapped upright, his muscles tensing abruptly in alarm. Wide eyes found Rachel's face and he relaxed slightly, one hand going to gingerly massage his neck.

Rachel stepped backward as Hood rose stiffly to his feet still looking rather dazed. He looked around, getting his bearings, before his eyes settled again on Rachel's face and _this _time, he fully registered her thunderous expression. He cleared his throat nervously, "Um, good morning Rachel?" he said rather uncertainly. He watched her face for a few seconds more, a spark of the earlier anxiety reigniting. He looked down at the ground, rubbing the back of his head and shuffling slightly before he mumbled an excuse and, as any sensible man would have done, fairly bolted down the hall. Rachel's eyes followed his somewhat rapid exodus, feeling startled and no little bit amused. Hmm…she would probably need to apologize for this later, but right now, she was rather enjoying her bad mood.

Around fifteen minutes later, Rachel was wondering around the east wing of the hospital when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned on the spot and waited as Hood approached, carrying two large coffees, one of which he cautiously extended to her, his eyes wide and innocent. Rachel moved forward and accepted his peace offering murmuring almost inaudibly in approval. His hand dropped quickly – almost as though he felt she might snap it off should he get too close. She took a sip. Oh glorious – café mocha, her favorite! She paused, eyes narrowing slightly, and took another sip. _Oops_, she thought, _I must have been really scary this morning_. She glanced at the cup she held – her coffee had twice the normal amount of chocolate. She took a bigger sip, peering out at Hood over the rim as he relaxed slightly. She lowered the coffee and grinned brightly at Hood. "Come on," she said, quite cheerfully, "we have work to do." With that, she spun on her heel and moved off, leaving a rather flabbergasted Hood standing in the golden light filtering through the window.

Hood gave Rachel another twenty minutes for the caffeine to really kick in before he moved over to her and carefully attracted her attention. She met his eyes readily, just a tinge of apology registering in her face. She made a slight motion in his direction, "Listen Hood," she said uncomfortably, "about earlier..." Hood raised a hand in her direction and grinned, not needing to hear her apology, "We all have bad mornings," he told her, "and we're all getting tired." She smiled somewhat sheepishly in his direction before straightening her shoulders, her manner becoming more businesslike. Hood correctly interpreted the shift in her posture to mean that she was now ready to discuss his findings of the night before. He took a deep breath, shuffling his thoughts into some semblance of order.

To give himself more time to think, he suggested that both of them go for a second round of coffee and it wasn't until they were settled at a small table in the café that he began his explanation. "As we expected, the vaccines from the clinic were all clean," he began. "That suggests to me that the fleas _are_ carrying the virus, but I would rather wait for confirmation from Melissa before I am completely convinced. We have Felix working pest control and he should be coordinating with the health department as well. That should limit further exposures for the time being." Now Hood's gaze sharpened and he leaned slightly in Rachel's direction, "After you went to bed last night, I got the geneticist's report. The virus is carrying a defective gene - we were right, the disease is a Myasthenic Syndrome caused in this case by a mutation in the gene for the muscle voltage-gated sodium channel."

Hood noted the expression on Rachel's face, somewhere in between 'deer-in-the-headlights' and 'road kill' - clearly he was not getting through at all. He pulled a hand down his face, trying to find a way to explain a rather difficult concept. He glanced at her again, hmm...he had better start at the very beginning. "Rachel," he began slowly, "do you know one of the most important factors in the maintenance of life?" Rachel made no move, allowing him to continue on at his own pace. "It's the capability of the cell to keep the things it needs inside and to keep waste and toxins outside." Rachel nodded. _Alright_ Hood thought, _with me so far._ "The cell is separated from its surrounding environment by a cell membrane. So generally speaking, the membrane of a cell is like a country's customs, handling that country's imports and exports - controlling what comes in and what goes out." He spoke slowly as he organized his explanation, "the cell also carefully regulates the amount and type of charged particles called ions inside and outside the cell. Due to the control of the cell, there is a charge difference - an electrical potential - across the cell membrane. In this case, the charge difference is due to a higher concentration of potassium inside the cell and to a higher concentration of sodium outside the cell."

Hood paused and searched Rachel's face, noting that while she was not quite lost, she was becoming overwhelmed. He decided to briefly change tack, "Ok, let me try to explain what I mean in a different way. During a thunderstorm, small particles in the cloud collide before being carried by air currents to different regions of the cloud. The result of these collisions is that charge differences build up between different regions of the cloud and/or between the cloud and the ground. This charge difference becomes greater and greater until the positive charge is attracted to the negative charge and electrical current flows in the form of lightning." Rachel nodded again.

"Right," Hood said, smiling approvingly, "in somewhat the same way, a charge difference exists across the membrane of a cell and the cell uses this electrical potential both to do work and to communicate with other cells. But when an electrical discharge happens, it is called an action potential - for example when a nerve fires or a muscle contracts." He raised an arm as an example. "Lightening happens spontaneously - the charge difference increases until suddenly - _zap_! But an action potential doesn't happen randomly. For example, when a nerve cell, a neuron, fires an action potential, it opens specialized holes in the membrane that specifically allow sodium ions to pass through. These holes in the membrane are called sodium ion channels. When the sodium channels open, sodium flows into the cell and the membrane potential depolarizes - and _zap_, a current flows through the cell. The action potential ends when the sodium channels inactivate - they shut down, and also when the potassium channels open and reset the membrane." He paused momentarily, nodded to himself, and added, "One more thing to keep in mind, when the sodium channel inactivates, for a brief period of time, it can't reopen. This keeps the action potential moving in the right direction and it is as important as the signal itself."

_Ok_, Hood thought, _now for a quick review_. "So Rachel, when a neuron fires, it opens the sodium channels in its cell membrane. Sodium enters the cell and _zap_, current flows. The action potential ends when the sodium channels shut down and when other types of channels reset the membrane potential." He could see that Rachel at least followed as far as that. "Now there is more than one kind of sodium channel - some respond to chemicals, and others to electrical stimulation such as an action potential from another cell. This kind," he shook the papers he held, "is in the skeletal muscles and it responds to electrical stimulation. During a normal action potential, these channels would remain open until the membrane potential depolarized past a certain voltage, then the channels shut down.

In the patients, the sodium channels inactivate and become non-responsive too easily. The result is that even before an action potential starts, most of the sodium channels are locked down and unavailable. To make things worse, if a number of action potentials go through the cell quickly, then basically _all_ of the sodium channels shut off and the cell is no longer able to fire an action potential. Without action potentials, muscle contractions are not possible. These defective channels are found in the skeletal muscles (which include the muscles associated with breathing), and so, those muscles easily become paralyzed, resulting in the symptoms we have seen here.

Hood could tell that not everything he had said made sense and so he made one more attempt. "In the most simple terms," he said, emphasizing with his hands, "the muscle cells in these patients have fewer sodium channels that can open at any given time. After repeated action potentials, all remaining sodium channels can shut down. This means that the current necessary to make the muscles contract can't be produced." Rachel thought for a moment before she finally nodded once. _Well,_ he thought, _that's probably the best I'm going to get._ He smiled somewhat apologetically at her, "I know it's complicated," he told her, "even other scientists might have trouble understanding the concepts at first."

Rachel stayed quiet, still trying to assimilate the details presented to her. Hood meanwhile, fiddled with the stack of papers that he held, repeatedly flicking through them with a thumb as he thought. After a moment, he tucked the papers under an arm and sighed before turning back to Rachel, "Well," he said softly, "we now know the cause of the illness, but we still need to come up with a treatment and we still need to find the _original_ source of the virus." Rachel came out of her reverie and looked at Hood, the sarcastic tilt of her eyebrows speaking volumes, "Oh well," she drawled, "_that_ should be easy." Hood glanced at her somewhat reprovingly, "Dr. Loch and I are meeting later tonight to discuss our therapeutic options. We hope to be able to reverse the effects of the gene completely." He straightened up and, tilting his head back, peered at Rachel through half lidded eyes, "I'll have you know," he told her, trying to look serious, but unable to completely mask his amusement, "that I already have an idea of where this virus came from." Rachel looked at him in surprise. "This is an example of an advanced gene therapy technique," Hood said softly, "Such a technique would require a reasonably advanced lab. The outbreak happened in Bethesda Maryland, seat of one of the leading scientific organizations in the United States - the National Institute of Health. Oh and Rachel," he said, grinning at her, "One of the leading sodium channel researchers happens to be right here in Bethesda, based at the NIH."


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_

A/N: Hey guys! Here's the next chapter. Again, heavy science ahead. I hope that you all enjoy the chapter - let me know. Cheers!

Before Hood and Rachel headed for the NIH, Hood left Rachel for a few moments in order to consult with Dr. Wilkinson. The physician led him into a consultation room, dimly lit with a couple of desk lamps, and gestured him into one of two identical armchairs. He sat down in the opposite chair where he crossed his legs comfortably and proceeded to clean his glasses on his white coat. "Well," he said finally, "Dr. Loch brought me up to speed this morning. He told me that the cause of the trouble is a defective sodium channel gene." Hood nodded. Dr. Wilkinson appeared to have been granted a second wind - reenergized now that he knew what disease he was fighting, however, Hood was still troubled. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, "I understand how important it is to get these people treated as soon as possible, but at the same time..." Hood frowned fractionally, "at the same time I also recognize the need to track down the original source of this virus in order to prevent further releases." He paused for a moment, considering, " I think you will agree that this has all of the earmarks of an accidental release. The cases were sporadic with random victims all tracked back to a veterinary clinic with little potential as a terrorist target." Dr. Wilkinson nodded, conceding the point. "However," Hood continued, "there is every chance that even an accidental release could happen again." He sighed, tenting his fingers, "What I would suggest is beginning a two-pronged treatment of pyridostigmine with acetazolamide. These two drugs have proven efficacious in studies of this particular sodium channel mutation in the past. At best, they will help to control the myasthenic syndrome until we can devise a more permanent cure."

Dr. Wilkinson clicked his pen somewhat distractedly and then peered at Hood over the top of his glasses, "That sounds like a reasonable plan to me," he said. "You know, I understand how pyridostigmine functions but..." he shook his head, "I never understood how acetazolamide works in myotonia." Hood got up, grinning broadly. He clapped the other man on the shoulder, "Neither do the pharmacologists," he told him. Dr. Wilkinson startled himself with a laugh - the first genuine one for days.

Hood was sorry to break the mood, but he had to be going, "Rachel and I are heading over to the NIH," he told Dr. Wilkinson. "I think that we will find that the virus originated somewhere there. We will probably try the National Institute of General Medical Sciences first." He turned to go, but was stopped by an exclamation. "Oh," Dr. Wilkinson said, snapping his fingers, "Melissa told me to pass this along. She says that the fleas you gave her were full of the virus." Hood nodded in satisfaction, "That's fantastic," he told the other, "We have a man coordinating with the health department to deal with any fleas found on animals previously at Merriter Lane. I'm told that the health department has closed down the clinic for the time being. That should deal with the first wave of the virus." Both men smiled again, feeling that they were finally making meaningful progress.

Hood thanked Dr. Wilkinson again and went in search of Rachel. He found her just finishing up a phone conversation. Snapping the phone shut, she turned to Hood and bobbed her head in acknowledgement, "That was Felix. He tells me that he and the health department have been working with animal control to temporarily seize each and every potentially infested animal." She met Hood's questioning gaze, "He called to tell us that they just removed the last of the animals for treatment." Hood nodded in approval, "Good. Dr. Wilkinson just gave me a message from Melissa that the fleas all contained our virus." After her disastrous flirting yesterday, Rachel figured that Melissa must have been too embarrassed to deliver her message in person - but she chose not to comment. A few minutes later and they were on their way to the NIH.

The site of the NIGMS, the William H. Natcher building, was an impressive structure, all glass and white stone. As Hood and Rachel approached, the sunlight glinted with a fiery intensity off of the many windows and the single white tower, jutting like a finger toward the sky, took on a gilded tone. The glass and alabaster edifice made Rachel feel slightly small, displaced and irrelevant. Hood, however stepped forward with the easy familiarity of one who revisits an old friend. He paused at the door, turned slightly and smiled encouragingly at Rachel as he noted her hesitance, "Shall we?" he asked softly. Hood held the door for her and motioned her inside and Rachel rolled her eyes at this reassertion of his rather archaic manners. She looked pointedly in his direction and held the second door open for him, daring him to argue. He grinned at her and stepped through without comment.

Hood consulted the directory on the wall, following one particular line with a finger. He tilted his head toward the bank of elevators and he and Rachel proceeded to the third floor. Outside of the elevator, a number of hallways branched off from the central axis, hallways which led to various labs and equipment. Various personnel, some carrying tubes nestled carefully in ice, others reading papers as they walked, bustled busily through the halls, occasionally nodding in acknowledgement. Hood began walking into the south wing of the building.

The walls here were decorated with the occasional poster displaying all manner of graphs, tables, and figures. One particular poster, tacked to the wall on the far side of a freezer, captured Hood's attention. The central figure of the poster was a set of brightly colored lines, arrayed so as to resemble the propeller of a box fan. To Rachel, the picture looked like silly string, however, the poster indicated that it was a model of the sodium channel. It was not in any case the figure which had attracted Hood's attention. He stood gazing at the sodium channel sequence presented in the next section. Abruptly he finished his perusal of the text and raised a finger to tap sharply a mutation highlighted in red, causing the poster to rattle slightly against the wall. Rachel glanced questioningly at Hood. He placed his hands in his pockets, slouching slightly, "Well," he said, "I think we're in the right place." Rachel studied the mutation he had indicated more closely. "V1442E," he told her, nodding in confirmation, "the mutation found in our patients." With that, he checked the position of his visitor's pass and stepped into the lab next to the poster, Rachel trailing behind.

Dr. Riley Wakefield sat in his office typing up an article response, occasionally bending down to check some fact or figure in the paper. Hood and Rachel stood just inside the door and Hood, mindful of the proper etiquette, stood quietly until he detected a brief lull in the other scientist's thought process, then he stepped forward slightly and began speaking softly so as not to startle him. "Hello Dr. Wakefield, I am Jacob Hood and this is Special Agent Rachel Young. I believe that the visitor's center phoned ahead to say that we were coming." Dr. Wakefield pivoted in his chair, his eyes falling briefly to Hood's visitor's pass before he stood and offered first Hood and then Rachel a hand in greeting.

Dr. Wakefield was a tall man of medium build, a perpetual stoop to his shoulders. His dark brown hair, shot through with gray, was carefully combed to one side in an effort to obscure a widening bald patch. A high brow, deeply furrowed, sloped gradually into a sharply angled nose, framed by two alert brown eyes. Dr. Wakefield studied each of them in turn and then turned to address Hood. "I'm afraid that I don't have time to show you around at the moment," he told them, speaking in a voice flavored with a slight British accent. "I have arranged for one of my graduate students to take you around the lab. By the time you get back, I should be able to answer any questions you might have." This said, Dr. Wakefield strode to the door and poked his head outside, "Kianga!" he called, one hand cupped around his mouth.

This exclamation was shortly followed by a young black woman of somewhat short stature with smooth, rounded features and golden amber eyes that peered at them from over the tops of her glasses. Her intricately braided hair was gathered into a neat ponytail that trailed down her back and she stood at ease next to her professor's shoulder awaiting introductions. Dr. Wakefield addressed Hood, "This is Kianga," he told him "my senior graduate student and currently involved in our work with the sodium channel gene." He turned to address her, "Kianga, this is Dr. Hood and this is Agent Young from the FBI." Kianga smiled at both of them and politely inclined her head, "Dr. Hood, Agent Young, if you would please follow me." Her speech pattern had a certain fluidity about it, the cadence and tonality rippling and flowing as a brook over smooth stones.

She led them through a number of halls and through a door into a conference room where she gestured to them to take a seat, "Dr. Wakefield told me that you asked to see our animals and that you were specifically interested in my project for some reason," Kianga said, pulling up a chair. Hood nodded in agreement, "Yes we are."

"As you may know," she continued musically, "we are currently collaborating both with an ion channel lab over at NINDS and with AstraZeneca. We are working together to test the efficacy of a new cholinesterase inhibitor, MC0349, against the myasthenic syndrome caused by V1442E." She smiled at them briefly, "The lab at NINDS works with the drug's activity at a molecular level while we introduce the gene of interest into our animal population and study the effects of the drug on our animals." She handed Hood a picture, "These chimpanzees are our test subjects. Those in the cages on the right are our control group and are being treated with an older cholinesterase inhibitor, while those on the left are the experimental group being treated with MC0349." Kianga grinned at them, "So far, the new drug is looking promising," she told them.

Hood was chewing his lip thoughtfully, "Am I right in thinking," he asked finally, "that your lab is working to develop a new technique for obtaining transgenic animals?" Kianga smiled again, nodding firmly, "Absolutely right," she told him. "We take our gene of interest and put it into a lentiviral vector behind a specific promoter - in this case a promoter specific to skeletal muscle." Hood leaned briefly in Rachel's direction and explained softly that a promoter was a sequence in DNA that enabled a gene to be turned on and off. In this case, an active promoter led to the manufacturing of the defective sodium channels.

Kianga continued with her explanation, "As you doubtless know," she said to Hood, "lentiviruses have the capability of inserting themselves into the DNA of the host - in this case, one of our chimps." Hood nodded distractedly, eager to hear the rest of the explanation. "Our lentiviruses are designed to find specific and well-defined sequences in the host DNA and to insert there," Kianga went on. "This results in the insertion of the mutant gene into the center of the native gene." Hood mused quietly for a moment and then looked directly at Kianga, "I see," he told her, "so the insertion of the mutant gene disrupts the sequence of the native gene and renders it non-functional." Kianga smiled at him, pleased that he understood, "That's right, and the genetic sequence of the chimpanzee is at least 96 percent identical to that in humans. So we can use the human sodium channel and get a very good indication of how well this drug works on the organismal level."

Hood gazed steadily at her and added seriously, "And if this virus should somehow get loose in the general population, then it would work with humans too." Kianga shook her head without hesitation, "No, no," she said, "that's not possible. Our lentiviruses are replication deficient." Hood turned to Rachel again, "Rachel," he said, "the viruses used in gene therapy have been altered so that they can't reproduce themselves." He paused, running a hand through his hair thoughtfully, "The typical virus has three genes called _gag_,_ pol_,and_ env_, that code for the viral protein coat - the package that wraps up the viral genetic material. The viruses used in gene therapy have had those three packaging genes removed. Scientists add the genetic material to specialized cell lines that express the packaging genes and those cells manufacture the viral protein coat and package the viral genetic material inside. This creates a complete virus that will not be able to manufacture a protein coat of its own." He paused for a beat, allowing Rachel to process that information, "If a virus can't make its own protein coat, then it can't spread."

He turned to face Kianga, "Somehow your lentivirus regained its capacity to replicate and escaped to infect the general population," he told her. Kianga was shaking her head. "Kianga," he said with difficulty, "the patients with the unexplained paralysis were found to be infected with a lentivirus carrying a gene with the exact same sequence reported on your poster." Kianga sat frozen in shock and as Hood and Rachel watched, her face acquired a grayish cast and she looked positively ill. "But how?" she muttered, half to herself, "How could the virus _regain its capacity to replicate!_ And how," she added, "could it escape?" Hood shook his head negatively, "I don't know yet," he told her. His lips firmed into a thin line and his eyes narrowed in determination, "But I intend to find out."

"Kianga, will you take us to see your chimps?" he asked. Kianga nodded somewhat distractedly, still processing all that he had told her. Presently she stood and led them from the room. They passed through a large office area, the center partitioned into cubicles with four or five nicer offices lining the perimeter. Passing through a door on the other end of the office area, Kianga turned off to the right and tapped a key card against an access panel, unlocking the door with an electronic beep. She paused by a supply cart outside the next door and began to pull on a lab coat, gloves, and an eye shield, gesturing that Hood and Rachel should do the same. When she was sure that all of them had on the correct protective gear, she turned and keyed a pin code into the access pad next to the door. Pushing the door open, Kianga invited them inside.

Inside the room, numerous chimpanzees watched them curiously from inside the cages, occasionally calling out. Rachel was amazed at the intelligence reflected in their eyes. They appeared to know Kianga on sight, vocalizing happily as she stepped into the room. Even as troubled as she was, Kianga managed a smile behind her mask, "Hello my friends," she said quietly. Hood caught Kianga's attention with a raised hand, "Kianga, would it be all right if I approached the cages more closely?" Kianga considered for a moment, "Yes," she said finally, "but I would rather you didn't touch the chimps or the cages. We don't want any bites." Hood nodded once in understanding and moved slowly toward the cages on the left hand side of the room, "Hello," he said cheerfully. The chimps eventually decided that he was not a threat and began to chatter. The bravest of them even reached through the bars of his cage. Hood visually inspected each of the animals, occasionally speaking softly to them.

After a few minutes, he stepped back over to Rachel and Kianga. "Kianga," he said, his breath catching as if he were troubled, "have all of these animals been exposed to the virus?" Kianga nodded in affirmation, "Yes," she said, "they have to be kept separately from all of our other animals - including the other labs' animals." "Good," Hood muttered, half to himself. He raised his voice again, "Kianga, these animals seem to have fleas. Many of them are scratching and there are dead fleas on the bottoms of the cages." Kianga rushed over to the cages quickly enough to startle the chimps into screeching and hooting. She soothed them with a few softly spoken words and peered into several of the cages. In a moment, she turned back to Hood, desperation in every line of her face and in the tense way that she held her shoulders, "You're right," she said finally. "But all of the animals are quarantined for a month when they arrive here and they are examined for any health problems during that period of time." She shook her head in disbelief, "I am sure that the veterinary staff would have picked up on any fleas. All animal care is on site and no outside animals are allowed inside the building."

At last, Kianga led them from the room and they all disposed of their protective gear. She led them back to the office area and told them to sit in a cubicle whose occupant was currently elsewhere. "This desk belongs to our technician. He's taking a lunch break and he shouldn't be back for a while yet." She frowned worriedly, "I need to tell Dr. Wakefield what you found. I'll bring him back to talk with you in a few minutes." With that, she walked rapidly off, tension radiating from every motion she made. Rachel made herself at home at the desk while Hood paced around the cubicle. A couple of minutes later, Rachel looked up from her reverie to find Hood staring at a fixed point somewhere in the vicinity of the trash can at his feet. Presently, he seemed to return to himself and moved back to stand next to Rachel.

Shortly thereafter, Kianga returned with Dr. Wakefield, who was looking concerned and upset. He wrung his hands unconsciously and his comb-over was slipping. Hood didn't waste time, but stepped directly over to him and, folding his hands behind his back, said without preamble, "You have an unauthorized cat in the building." Dr. Wakefield's head jerked back sharply in shock, his comb-over becoming more disheveled, "That just can't be," he said finally. Hood reached over and removed a pencil from the desk which he then used to fish a small can out of the trash. He turned back to Dr. Wakefield, "Well," he told him, "either your technician really likes 'tuna surprise' or he is hiding a cat."

Dr. Wakefield stared disbelievingly at the can for a moment and then his brows drew down dangerously and his jaw tightened, "I, " he huffed severely, "am going to go have a little _chat_ with Mr. Baker in the lunchroom. If you'll excuse me." He hurried off in the other direction and shortly thereafter, the somewhat muffled sounds of a one-sided shouting match echoed down the hall. The bellowing abruptly increased in volume and Hood and Rachel exchanged a glance, finding themselves rather impressed; Kianga shuffled uncomfortably from her post against the wall.

The door to the lunchroom sprung open and a young man, thin and with unruly black hair, rushed from the room as if all the hounds of hell were on his tail. Dr. Wakefield stalked after him, several curious pairs of eyes watching the scene play out from the door of the lunchroom. The technician charged into the cubicle and yanked open a drawer on the filing cabinet. He fished around for a moment while Dr. Wakefield tapped his foot impatiently and then turned and led them hurriedly to a large storage room, which he unlocked. Inside, a cat could be heard meowing to be let out. He opened the door and scooped up the gray tabby cat that came into the hall.

Hood stepped over to Baker and investigated the cat in his arms carefully. He reached out to touch with one finger the flea collar around the little animal's neck. He looked up, for the moment utterly confused, "I don't understand," he said, "this cat doesn't have fleas." The technician was still somewhat shaken, but he looked up at that and protested, "Of course not! Sampson is a good cat and he always wears his flea collar. He..." He would have continued, but he was silenced by a _look_ from Dr. Wakefield. "Get that miserable cat out of here," he said, enunciating carefully. "If you make one more mistake like that Mr. Baker..." he left the comment hanging, his meaning abundantly clear. The technician turned to go, but at that moment, Hood and Rachel shared another look, a horrible suspicion growing in both of their minds. "Wait!" Rachel called, her tone severe, "Where's the other cat?" "Yeah," Hood pitched in, folding his arms, "where's Delilah?"

The technician's shoulders jerked guiltily and he turned around to face them again. He stared at them for quite a while and then, seeing that he wasn't going to escape this one, volunteered the necessary information. "Delilah hasn't been at the NIH for about two weeks," he told them. Hood prompted him to continue, moving one hand in a circular pattern and staring fixedly at him. Finally Baker spoke up again, "She's at the vet's. She's been sick lately." Hood cocked his head like a raptor, "What veterinary clinic is she at and what did they say was wrong with her?" he asked. Baker shrugged, "She's at the Merriter Lane Animal Hospital and they said that she has FIV." Hood closed his eyes - _of course! _he thought. At last, the final pieces of the puzzle were slotting into place.

Hood nodded emphatically, "I understand now," he told the others. He turned to address Rachel, "Lentiviruses such as the ones used in gene therapy insert their genetic material into the DNA of the host cell. Once there, on occasion, they can pick up pieces of the host DNA and they can lose pieces of their own genes. This occasionally results in a virus that can no longer replicate itself." He glanced at Rachel, assessing her level of confusion, "This phenomenon," he continued, "is referred to as the defective virus. A defective virus needs to have the help of another virus in the same cell to manufacture new protein coats." He paused, jiggling his hand in midair as he prepared to move to the sticky part of his argument, "Delilah has Feline Immunodeficiency Virus - the cat equivalent of the AIDS virus. FIV is also a lentivirus. I _think_," he went on, "that what happened here is that the lentivirus carrying the defective sodium channel gene infected cells in Delilah that were already infected by FIV."

Hood took a deep breath, "Once there, they both inserted themselves into that cell's DNA. Because Delilah's DNA is different enough from a human DNA sequence, the lentivirus inserted randomly into her DNA and encountered the FIV genes." He glanced around at all of them in turn, "What I _think_ might have happened is that the gene therapy virus picked up the three genes encoding the viral protein coat from FIV and thus, the virus regained its ability to replicate." He lifted a hand to forestall any arguments for the moment, "Now I know that the odds are astronomically against such an occurrence," he admitted, "but, I think that Delilah was exposed to a high quantity of both viruses. Given the number of cells that were probably infected by both viruses, the odds are much more favorable to such an unlikely event."

Dr. Wakefield was nodding, evidently finding such an argument plausible, "Yes," he said finally, "that is theoretically possible." Hood bobbed his head affirmatively, "And given that the sequence of the virus in the affected individuals is identical to your virus," he added, "I should think that this is the most likely explanation." Hood extended a hand, palm downward in the direction of Dr. Wakefield and Kianga, "Well," he said, "I think that we have all of the information that we need." He smiled apologetically at Kianga and Dr. Wakefield, "I'm afraid that Rachel and I need to leave now." He moved forward to shake both of their hands. He squeezed Kianga's shoulder encouragingly, "It wasn't your fault," he told her gently. He turned to go and Rachel quickly said her goodbyes to Dr. Wakefield and Kianga, studiously avoiding the shamefaced Baker.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back. Sorry that it took a bit longer this time. I have a big conference coming up at the end of this week. Wow, believe it or not, after this chapter there is only the epilogue! I will probably have to wait until after I get back from the conference to post the epilogue, but you know I'll post ASAP =) . Let me know what you guys think (please? = p ). Thanks for reading!

Back at the hospital, Dr. Wilkinson had just finished hanging the last IV bag containing the carefully measured doses of pyridostigmine and acetazolamide. He flicked the dial that regulated the flow of the drugs with his thumb and eyed the drip rate, satisfied, he allowed the line to drop. He sighed softly to himself - he had a vast amount of charting to do; however, that could wait. _Ah yes_, he thought, _that could __**certainly **__wait._ _After all_, he rationalized,_ observing the patients' reactions to the drugs was much more important - not to mention interesting_. His mind made up, Dr. Wilkinson pulled up a chair and settled in calmly to wait.

Hood and Rachel were just arriving on the hospital premises. Without pausing to take in the glory of the setting sun, they moved into the building, Rachel blinking in a rather owlish fashion in the sudden dimness. Despite their great progress toward the conclusion of the case, it was clear from their grayish pallor and stooped shoulders that both Hood and Rachel were on their last legs. Rachel's face had developed a perpetual irritable twitch and her head was lowered as she walked like a bulldog heading into the wind. On reflection, it was probably a good thing that no junior agents were around her now - they might just find themselves relegated to being her latest chew toy or dammit doll. She laughed somewhat darkly at the mental image projected from this thought, finding the good grace to peer innocently at Hood as he threw a bemused glance in her direction. For now at least, Hood had no cause for concern from Rachel. She still remembered how she had snapped at him earlier _and_, she told herself, _she was far too professional to distract him now when he was so near to closing the case - right?_

Hood half stumbled through the halls, barely paying any heed to where he was going. At one point, he blundered full into an unoffending table, staggered, mumbled an apology, and continued on his way. He was muttering nonstop under his breath, using muted hand gestures to sketch out the blueprints of an idea. He reached the isolation ward on cruise control and continued on down the hall, only halted when an exasperated Rachel brought him around. He looked confused for an instant and then he registered where he was standing. Distractedly, he nodded his thanks and turned his attention fully to Dr. Wilkinson, just emerging from the isolation ward like Jack from his box. Dr. Wilkinson tore off his gloves (it was no longer necessary to wear the full protective gear), clearly in a state of almost wild excitement. Stethoscope around his neck swinging wildly, he zipped over to them, grinning all the while like some escapee from the psych ward. He seized Hood by the shoulders and beamed like a jack-o-lantern into the stunned scientist's face, "It worked!" he said breathlessly. "The drugs worked!" He continued on, sounding more and more like an auctioneer warming up, "They started waking up a few minutes ago - they were still weak," he raised his hands to chest level, palms facing up, "but that's to be expected. That's to be expected." He paused to grin some more, his chin jutting out and his eyes twinkling amidst deep crow's feet, "The point is," he went on, "if they keep responding like this, we'll be able to take them off of the ventilators. We'll still keep them here under observation until the case is concluded but - well, this is most excellent!" He looked from Hood to Rachel, completely missing the fact that he sounded less like a doctor than a motorboat, "I am going to get some coffee," he told them, quite ecstatic, "would you care to join me?"

Hood collected his wits enough to find voice, "No thank you," he said politely, "I have to get working on the final solution to our problem." He smiled lopsidedly, "I think that it's fantastic that the patients are responding to the medication." Dr. Wilkinson beamed as if Christmas had come early and turned to go but felt a small hand on his arm, turning in mild surprise, he found the small blonde facing him, staring at him in something close to amazement, "Dr. Wilkinson," she said, both hands extended, palms downward at an angle - _now don't take this the wrong way_, "you _might_ want to switch to unleaded."

Hood and the geneticist Dr. Loch were in the lab area, heads down and close together, totally absorbed in their conversation. Rachel, who was slouching on a stool, could see that Hood had a number of papers and was gesturing at them intermittently, evidently explaining something of great complexity. She sighed and stared around the lab bench at random, looking for something to interest her. The tubes were clear, but the tube racks were all fluorescent colors; _Hmm..._thought Rachel, _I'll bet people can find those in the dark - if I look at them any longer my eyes are going to start bleeding_. Her eyes settled instead on an interesting pen, solid metal with a clear top and etched glass running in a spiral inside. It had a company logo and a small button to one side. Automatically, Rachel reached out and pressed the button and immediately, a blue light inside the barrel of the pen made the etched glass helix glow. Rachel stared at it, mesmerized, and she was still staring at it moments later when the abrupt noise of chairs scraping at the other end of the lab jerked her from her daze - Hood and Dr. Loch had evidently finished their conference.

Hood moved over to her and smiled wearily, "Rachel," he said, "I thought that you might like to know what we are going to try." He glanced around momentarily and, spying another stool, he dragged it over, wincing slightly as it shrieked across the tiles. "Do you remember what I told you about how the virus inserted the defective sodium channel gene?" He waited for a moment and, correctly interpreting her silence, went on with an explanation, "The virus inserted the defective gene behind a promoter - the on switch - in the middle of the native gene that was already in the cell. The promoter would only operate inside a skeletal muscle cell. Therefore, the original copy of the gene was rendered nonsensical and only the defective copy remained."

Hood peered into Rachel's face for a moment, waiting to see if she had any questions, and then he continued, "We want to use the same strategy in reverse." He paused again and smiled hopefully at her. "I think I see," Rachel said slowly, her eyes lowered and her nose slightly scrunched as she thought, "so you're going to put a normal sodium channel gene into the middle of the bad one, killing the bad copy and leaving only the good one?" Hood was delighted, "Exactly," he enthused, "we'll be able to cure them completely and the only side effect will be that their DNA will be slightly longer. After all," he said, shrugging, "around eight percent of human DNA is thought to be viral in origin."

Rachel smiled briefly at him and then got back to business, "So," she asked, "when is this miracle cure going to be ready?" Hood stroked his chin, considering, "Well," he said slowly, "with the information we already have and with the DNA both from our patients and from Dr. Wakefield's lab, I think that Dr. Loch and I can have this ready by mid-morning tomorrow." He peered over his shoulder to confer with Dr. Loch and the other scientist nodded thoughtfully. Hood turned back to Rachel, "After that, we'll run the new genetic material over to Kianga and she should have the virus ready for us in a couple of days."

Rachel stared severely first at Hood, then at Dr. Loch, "Well," she said crisply. The two men glanced at each other, faces trapped somewhere between amusement and mild alarm. "Well," she said again, dragging the moment out, "then I'm going to go get more coffee." With that, she turned smartly on her heel and left.

As they had predicted, Hood and Dr. Loch had finished making the new viral vector at around eleven the next morning. Rachel had telephoned for a somewhat grouchy Felix to collect the precious vector and take it to Kianga at the NIH. Then, as if she had gotten a sudden idea, one that made her smile somewhat wickedly, she mysteriously disappeared. Hood and Dr. Loch, meanwhile, tottered off to bed - far too tired to give her sudden disappearance much thought.

In the middle of the third day since Hood and Dr. Loch's nightmarish all-nighter, Kianga showed up at the hospital carrying a cooler clearly marked with the propeller-like biohazard symbols. She set the cooler down on the nurse's station and walked over to Hood, dozing in a chair outside the isolation ward. She gingerly shook his shoulder, "Hello Dr. Hood," she said apologetically, "I have the new virus for you. I already delivered injections to the other hospital with affected patients." Hood grinned at her, completely awake now, "That's wonderful Kianga!" he exclaimed cheerfully, "Thank you very much for your help. Your cell lines saved us a lot of time."  
Kianga looked down and smiled slightly, "Thank you for letting me help these people," she said seriously. Hood started to say something, but she held up a hand to forestall him. She nodded, "I _know_ the release wasn't my fault," she said and smiled, "but I feel better anyway." Her smile brightened and Hood couldn't help but grin back at her. "Just give each patient one syringe in their IVs," she told him, "Dr. Wakefield consulted with a prominent local physician to determine the viral titer necessary for the average adult." Kianga's eyes indicated Dr. Wilkinson, who was currently coming down the hall. Hood stood up and shook her hand firmly, "Thanks again," he said, smiling, "you were a big help." Kianga grinned almost impishly and moved off down the hall, on her way back to the NIH.

Hood waved to get Dr. Wilkinson's attention who by now was busy with a chart over at the nurse's station. He went over to join him, "Kianga came by with the new virus," he told him, placing one hand on top of the cooler, "The other hospital already has it." Dr. Wilkinson smiled and opened the container, revealing a neat row of syringes packed carefully in ice packs, "One syringe per patient?" he enquired, glancing at Hood for confirmation. Hood nodded, "Kianga said that you and Dr. Wakefield collaborated on the proper concentration of virus." Dr. Wilkinson closed the container and lifted it from the desk, "Yes we did," he confirmed. He peered at Hood over his glasses, "How long will the virus take to work do you think?" Hood considered, "I think that in three days, we can start weaning the patients off of the drugs. During that time, obviously, someone will have to watch them carefully to be sure they don't start reacting badly to the drugs." Dr. Wilkinson nodded in acceptance, "That sounds reasonable to me. They're still weak, but at least they're off the ventilators." He smiled, "Well I'm going to grab a few nurses to help me with these," he patted the cooler. He disappeared around the corner.

Hood went in search of Rachel and found her curled up in a chair in the waiting room. He touched her shoulder carefully and she groaned softly in protest. "I thought that you would like to know that Kianga came back with the new virus." Rachel straightened up slowly and spoke through a yawn, "How long will it take?" "We're going to start taking them off of the drugs in three days. Dr. Wilkinson and the nurses are going to be watching them carefully the whole time though." Rachel looked sleepily into Hood's face, "So now we wait?" Hood nodded, "Now we wait."


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Well, I'm back from my conference and the end has finally come! I would like to offer my sincere thanks to everyone who has been reading this - and especially to my two faithful reviewers EHfan and kygal. Hint, hint everyone else...please review here ;p . Thank you all for keeping with the story. Happy reading!_

It had been three days since the patients had been dosed with the redesigned virus. The morning had dawned bright and full of promise, dew glistening brightly atop the grass, and the air, freshened by the rain the night before, was clear and crisp. It was a morning, Dr. Wilkinson reflected, almost like the one a few days ago that had seen the start of this whole mess. The last few days had completely blurred together, the normal landmarks of the day lost in the mayhem. He stroked his chin thoughtfully as he peered out of the window and sighed - he _really_ could use a few days off. He was already planning a fishing trip to the Potomac for the next week and quite frankly, he couldn't wait.

He glanced down the hall toward the isolation ward, smiling slightly. This was the day that he would take the patients off of the drugs completely. He planned to reduce the dosage gradually over the course of the next few hours and to have the medicine completely out of their systems by around 6:00 pm tonight. Initially, he had to admit that he was not sure whether or not Dr. Hood's redesigned viral vector was going to do the job, but now, all of the signs pointed in the direction of a complete cure. Already, Dr. Wilkinson had needed to reduce the drug dosage significantly for the majority of the patients - because they were beginning to exhibit muscle cramps. He walked back toward the isolation ward, head down and mind elsewhere.

The hospital staff were carefully monitoring all of the patients because, as Hood had reminded them, different people would probably synthesize new proteins at a different rate and thus, would possibly respond in an altered manner to the withdrawal of medication. Such diversity was, as Hood had said, par for the course. Dr. Wilkinson brought his head up, realizing for the first time just how odd those words were. They meant 'average' or 'to be expected' but he would like to meet the average person who regularly scored even par on the easiest course. Maybe he should advocate the phrase 'bogey for the course'. Dr. Wilkinson shook his head rapidly, realizing just how tired he must be if he was thinking nonsense like that. Slightly exasperated with himself, he strode to the door of the isolation ward and stepped resolutely inside.

Hood and Rachel glanced up at him from their perches against the far wall and smiled briefly. Though the last couple of days had been much slower, all three of them still looked like raccoons. Rachel was still having occasional bouts of peevishness (causing most of the men in the area to filter discretely from the room) and Hood's shoulders trembled slightly as he fought to hold himself erect. At that moment, Rachel received a phone call, hissed apologetically and slipped quietly from the room. From his vantage point, Hood watched as she leaned against a wall to talk. Presently, she smiled mischievously and walked purposefully in the direction of the parking lot. Hood tapped two fingers together, _huh_, he thought to himself, _I might want to watch out for tricks later_. With that, he settled himself more comfortably in his chair and dozed off.

Later on, Hood awakened to feel a small hand shaking his shoulder. He planted his hands and scooted further up into the seat, blinking in surprise as he registered the time on the clock - he had apparently been asleep all day and the westering sun, shining through the slatted blinds, cast a striped pattern, slightly distorted, on the far wall. Dr. Wilkinson caught his eye and nodded fractionally, indicating nonverbally '_so far, so good_'. Hood finally raised his eyes to Rachel's face, wondering what she wanted to say. He blinked in surprise as, instead of speaking to him, she gripped his forearm firmly and tugged him after her.

She led him out to the car, opened the passenger side door and removed a white box which she passed to Hood, now barely able to contain her smirk. Hood hesitated, wondering what on earth he was in for now - Rachel grinned at the discomfited expression on his face and gestured for him to open the box. Hood looked inside and stared for the space of a few seconds and then threw his head back and laughed, Rachel joining in. When they had recovered, she leaned in and whispered something in his ear, evidently forgetting that there was no one around to overhear them. In a moment, he nodded enthusiastically, took the keys and the box from her, and drove off. It was over an hour before anyone at the hospital saw him again.

Rachel glanced up as Hood entered the isolation ward, peering questioningly in his direction - he replied with a wink and a good-humored smile, '_all clear_'. Hood glanced around the room, up at the clock, and then around the room again in a series of rapid fire double-takes. Dr. Wilkinson caught his eye and grinned, walking over to meet him, "Fantastic news," he breathed, "all of the patients are now completely off of the drugs! They are all doing excellently well. If they keep going like this, they'll be able to go home tomorrow!" Hood smiled broadly and only Rachel noticed as he allowed his shoulders to drop slightly in relief. With a typical scientist's skepticism, Hood had been unprepared to assume that his treatment would work - he had spent most of the last two days researching alternative methods of treatment and writing ideas down on a well worn notepad.

The room had come alive again. In the far corner, JJ was gripping his father's hand tightly and grinning at a joke he had just been told. Closer to Hood and Rachel, Mara Winters was once again telling some story from work, hands constantly in motion and threatening Vivian Maxwell's bed with a shower of coffee. Vivian caught Hood's eye and tilted her head slightly, her eyes twinkling good-naturedly. She shrugged as if to say, '_Oh well, here we go again_'. Little Abby Loomis was practically invisible behind the crowding balloons and visitors - and milking it for all she was worth. Hood took it all in, a sense of fulfillment lending him a gentle smile. This is why he did what he did. These were the moments that made it all worthwhile. At last Hood nodded toward Dr. Wilkinson, exchanging with him for the last time their mutual respect and friendship. Then, tapping Rachel's shoulder lightly, he turned to go and soon Hood and Rachel were on their way back to the chartered jet.

Hood and Rachel had arrived several minutes before the rest of the crew. Glancing briefly around the empty plane, they settled into two adjacent seats. Hood looked toward Rachel, his eyes warm with humor and they shared a grin of anticipation before allowing their heads to droop forward as though asleep. Soon, lumbering footfalls announced the arrival of Felix. Rachel's lips twitched slightly upward before she stifled the urge to smirk. Hood was watching Felix out of the corner of one eye.

Felix moved to take his seat but instead spotted a strange white box. "Huh?" he muttered softly to himself and reaching out, he took hold of the box and lifted the lid. In the box was a cookie, lightly frosted in blue, and shaped curiously like...a _flea! _ He froze, staring into the box with a sour look on his face. Next to Hood, Rachel swallowed a laugh, ready to blow at any second.

Exasperatedly, Felix placed the box to one side and reached in the seat pocket for a magazine to read. He pulled the magazine out decisively and froze for a second time that day as, along with the magazine, out slipped a perfectly balanced mobile of multi-colored flea collars. Finally, Hood and Rachel looked at one another and, each seeing the twisted expression on the other's face, finally lost it and howls of their helpless laughter chased each other around the plane. Felix spent most of the flight home muttering acidly about too-clever scientists and their sneaky bodyguards. However, when they finally touched down, the cookie was gone.


End file.
